What if I have it?
I think to myself.
What should I do?
Get tested of course.
But what if I have it?
You’ll be fine.
Will I be fine?
I always get far ahead of myself and think about what might happen in the future. What if I have it? What will happen to me? How will I deal with it? And so on. I will never put these thoughts aside to rest until the whole concern is over.
But it will take a while to get an appointment, and I’m not free.
Still get tested.
It’s probably nothing.
You could die.
Almost every night, before I go to sleep, I think about everything I shouldn’t waste my time for: people I hate, him, the one and only, my past and my far away future.
Instead of going to sleep early, to wake up early, I end up thinking about everything I try to forbid myself to make an effort for. And here come the thoughts and the fears.
I could die.
It could be too late and I could die.
What will happen to my family?
I think about my mother.
I think about my grandmother
My sisters, my dad and my brothers.
Will my friends care?
How will they react if I have it?
Will they be concerned?
Perhaps it will be too dramatic and I will finally be the center of attention.
How will I tell them about it?
“Guys, I have something serious to tell you…”
“Guys, I want you to be strong for me.”
“Guys, our lives will never change.”
“Guys, don’t worry. I will survive.”
What if they won’t care? What if they pretend to care, just for sympathy?Or pity.
What if he finds out? from some unknown source, and runs to me, to tell me that he doesn’t want to lose me. What if he does that because of pity?
What if he won’t care?
What will happen to me?
At this moment I realize that I have been crying, thinking about the unknown future.
I have been crying thinking about these possibilities.
This is just silly…
Why am I crying?
It’s probably nothing.
What if I have it.
I might die.
I try not to tell anyone about my concerns, but for some unknown reasons I end up telling my boss, the only person I don’t share anything with, but we tend to chat a lot. I think she likes me. After our talk, I realize that I need to go check with the doctor as soon as possible.
Not knowing why it took me so long I go and check.
Perhaps it’s too late now.
Perhaps it’s nothing, and that’s why it took me too long to go.
Or maybe I‘m not ready for it.
I have to go… and get it over with.
I end up sharing my concerns with my mother and sister. They don’t seem to worry. They think it’s nothing. I wonder… why?
I drag my sister to accompany me for support, and Instead of waiting for the doctor in the waiting room, I go and eat a sandwich from that place I’ve neglected for years, pretending that this whole situation is normal or a waste of time.
When my turn comes, the doctor asks few questions before examining me.
“Did anyone in your family have it?”
He examines me.
It doesn’t feel comfortable, but it needs to be done.
When it’s over, the doctor says “It’s nothing.”
It wasn’t entirely a relief.
He explains the anxiety symptoms that a woman my age might have. But I can always come back and check again. If it worries me, again.
Am I relieved?
I don’t have it.
I will not die.
Why am I not relieved?
Did I want to have it?
Would my life be different if I have it?
Would it be meaningful?
Filled with feelings and spirit?
But I don’t have it.
Nothing to worry or make a fuss about.
This post was first published on the writing website straketch