Isolation: A Short Story

A long time ago, my name was used to signify royalty.  Honor.  Protection.

Now it brings only fear.

I'll be forever grateful to the man who brought me here, to this cabin in the woods.  No one around for me to harm.  

I'm also sorry that he had to get hurt to help me.

I've been here for three weeks now.  Alone.  I gave up watching television, seeing my name in the headlines.  The number of people I've hurt.  I stay on the music stations, letting the beats and rhythms drown my thoughts.

Sleeping is difficult.  I lay awake most nights trying and failing to not think about my past.  I spent my whole life reaching out for someone to love me.  But among all the people I've encountered, I knew I was alone.  I knew I would always be alone.

So I ran.

I was fortunate to find this cabin.  All the furniture was covered in a thick layer of dust.  The kitchen was almost empty.  I've had to ration my meals.  I was thrilled when I found the cable box still worked.

I think I've made the best of things.  I'm feeling lighter than I have in a long time.  Music drowning my loneliness.  A game of solitaire on the table.  Even the bookshelf is still stocked with some reading material.  I'm keeping busy, distracting myself.  

I found seeds in one of the kitchen pantries.  A plot of soil in the back yard.  On sunny days, I go out and tend to my little garden.  The beans sprouted quickly.

Everything is fine.  I am fine.

I head back inside, my sprouts freshly watered, glistening in the sun.  A song comes on that I love.  The perfect amount of bass.  I turn it up, begin to dance.  I live for moments like this, where I can be free to be me.  Enjoy the music.  Enjoy life.  I close my eyes as I dance.

I don't see the headlights.  I don't hear the voices, the children's excited laughter.  I open my eyes in time to see the door handle turn.  I freeze, feeling a fear I haven't felt in days.  My chest tightens.  I think of the last people I saw.  The last people I hurt.  In Wuhan.  Milan.  Madrid.  New York.  I'm sorry.  I'm so sorry.

I see a face, the confusion in the eyes.

The intake of breath.

I'm sorry.  West Virginia, I'm so sorry.

Overthinking the Past Week (March 7-13, 2020)

I know it's not Thursday, but here's a new post anyways.

This past week has been quite the roller coaster ride.  It started last Saturday at work when I began having pain in my ribs.  I took some pain killers and kept going.  About half an hour later, my legs got really weak and shaky.  I left work a few hours early.

On Monday, I called off work and went to Urgent Care.  I was still experiencing rib pain and a lot of weakness.  After some x-rays and an EKG, it was determined that the weakness was possibly a result to a mass I have growing on my pituitary gland.  I've known about this mass since 2013, but it hasn't grown or caused any worries for me over the years.  

As for my rib pain, let's just say that I was in need of some laxatives.

Also on Monday, my  younger sister gave birth to her first child.  Yay for nephew number three!

On Tuesday, I left work early.

On Wednesday, the weakness and shakiness was still going on.  I was given the day off of work.  I saw my primary care provider and he ordered some blood work and an MRI.  He also asked me about my history of chest pain.  He said that the mass on my brain could be affecting my prolactin levels.  In other words, if my sister ever got tired of nursing, I might've been able to help out.  The blood work came back normal, though.  I'm not lactating!  Thank goodness!  And I am scheduled to get an MRI in a little over a week.

My anxiety has been so high this week that I seemingly don't even care anymore.  I've thought of every outcome to my issues.  I've thought of dropping out of school to help pay for medical bills, which there is still a chance might happen.  I've thought about the possible minor surgery I would need if the mass turns out to be a tumor.  I've thought of everything.  Now I'm so numb to the anxiety, the only thing I can think is "Bring it on".