I spread a pocketful of cheerful autumn leaves across the dark mahogany tabletop, smoothing the curling edges flat, admiring the precise indentations of the maples, and examining the green stripes and purply spots on the rust-colored beech. I’ve brought in a leathery brown oak leaf, too, and I place it in the middle of the reds and oranges and yellows.
I’m thinking about burying the cat. First I think, at least it’s not the dead of winter, so I won’t have too much trouble digging a deep hole. Then I think of all the critters here in the woods of New Hampshire, and how they might dig her up. I think how unfair: that I would be burdened with another loss so soon after my brother’s passing. Of all the cats I’ve had, this one’s my favorite.

Mayasika
Then she comes downstairs.
She’s not dead, I just thought she might be because she didn’t appear as soon as I came in from my walk. So my mind wandered into worry and then decided to embark on a full expedition. This is how my mind works since my brother died. There’s a low-level anxiety lurking amongst the dendrites and ganglia in my brain, keeping me ever vigilant and ready for the next crisis or tragedy.
Sometimes the bump on my nose must be cancer. Sometimes I know someone is angry with me, but I don’t know who or why; I just know I’m in trouble. Sometimes, my familiar to-do list will bring on a near panic. Sometimes my cat is dead.
Thing is, the worst has happened. And it happened almost ten months ago. But I’ve only just stopped keeping the cell phone by my bed, finally realizing there will be no more nighttime emergencies. I will not be called into action. I no longer have primary responsible for any person’s health or well-being except my own. My mother is dead; my brother is dead.
Given those parameters, everything is fine. I am still alive. My cats are still alive. I’m doing pretty well, really.
I guess it will take time for my tired reptilian brain to come back to center, to stop anticipating disaster. In the meantime, I go for walks in the woods and collect pretty leaves. And I write.
Oct 25, 2014 @ 02:58:15
Every April 1 I want to curl up in bed and sleep the month away. Aprils and Tuesdays have been historically horrible times for my family. I hold my breath through the month, and at least once a week on Tuesday.
Had not heard the term adrenaline fatigue, but I believe it. Continued stress can activate cortisol levels.
I’ll have to read around to learn more of your story, but it sounds like we do have a lot in common.
Thanks for finding me so I could find you.
-Christy
Oct 25, 2014 @ 09:39:03
Adrenal fatigue is when your body gets overloaded w/ cortisol, the stress chemical…you think you are always in crisis. You might also check out complex PTSD – sometimes comes w/ growing up in a dysfunctional home.
Good to know you!
Oct 23, 2014 @ 18:28:41
I know those feelings well also. I lost a lot of family over a ten year period and even though it’s been years since, I still get a shot of panic when the phone rings, when someone is late or upon discovering unusual lumps & bumps. You’re definitely not alone in your neuroses.
Oct 23, 2014 @ 21:15:45
Good to hear – not for you, but for me! I don’t feel quite so crazy in this when I hear of other’s experience. Thanks for sharing.
Oct 17, 2014 @ 21:57:32
“I guess it will take time for my tired reptilian brain to come back to center, to stop anticipating disaster.” Nice way of describing what I’ve lived through. The medical term that applies, I believe, is “adrenaline fatigue.” Peace, John
Oct 18, 2014 @ 09:08:43
Odd that this should happen to me, because that’s what caused my brother’s severe PTSD & ended up contributing to his death: cortisol. Any advice, John?
Oct 14, 2014 @ 21:29:29
Thank you. This one rings like a bell!
Oct 14, 2014 @ 22:27:10
Well – I guess that’s good. Nice not to be alone in my neuroses.