Frightened

Perhaps a bit of a strong word. Maybe I’m not frightened but apprehensive or simply scared. It’s like I want to write about it, as I currently have no one to confide in about this concern, but I also don’t want to, as though putting what’s in my head into words will make it more concrete when I’d rather it not be. As though the more I focus on it, the more real a certain outcome could become.

I feel that I will be on my own should there be a repeat of parental death. No doubt it will happen eventually but my current fear stems from evidence that it could be closer. When it (death) was happening to one parent, I told myself that I was fine, but with what methods will I cope all on my own? Because it’s like, “Friends? Close connections? What are those?”

Perhaps it’s time for a contingency plan. The (serious) evidence might be found not to be such a bad prognosticator—maybe…—but it can still be good to have some kind of coping plan.

So, a plan. I might be getting into therapy again. It’s possible I’ll have to deal with insurance issues and might have to pay something out of pocket. Despite the financial anxiety, if the aforementioned disaster strikes, therapy might still be useful as a short-term or infrequent thing. And then there’s moving on my own that I’ll potentially have to deal with, depending on timing.

More things to think about, a (pre) coping mechanism of intellectualization as I did during the other parent’s crisis, when it was a perhaps morbid intellectual stimulation.

I feel that I’ve caused this, my isolation. My actions and desires have led to this. I even felt ambivalent about starting therapy again because I wanted to be self-reliant, and I was doing just fine six months without it so why start now!? But yeah, circumstances seem different now, and perhaps I’m trying to take a more proactive approach.

There’s fear of decisions and having to make them. And I’m afraid of the suffering. I don’t want this person to suffer.

I’m not certain, but maybe in the end I’ll be okay.