My Greatest Fear

I can’t remember a time when I haven’t had twenty irrational, unfounded fears circling my head. These anxieties can shut me down, can cause meltdowns, and are always hanging out with my depression. I’m pretty sure it just goes with the territory when you’ve had a life like mine, and honestly, I don’t know what it would feel like to live a life free of crippling anxiety, so don’t feel too bad for me.

There is one fear so pervasive, in the front of my mind and all times. It causes more depression in my life than anything else I can identify. I think it is the fear of many people in my situation.

I’m scared to death of my wife dying.

Most likely, my wife and I’s relationship is not like yours. First, we were best friends for a decade before we got romantically involved. When we did, we knew it was forever from the first kiss. Because we were already best friends. Furthermore, we have dealt with more adversity in our marriage than anyone reading this will ever know. We are madly in love with each other, we only want to hang out with each other, and we go through some of the toughest shit a family can go through. Together.

Damnit. None of these words are expressing with our marriage means. It’s unconditional love at its purist. It’s unconditional support and its most powerful. It’s constant companionship; I would literally rather spend 10 minutes with Deborah than any amount of time with literally anyone else (sorry, Obamas). This isn’t the lip services I hear coming from people’s mouths. This is the truest thing in my life.

Deborah not only loves me, hangs out with me all the time, snuggles, raises the dogs with me, she also provides extremely important care for me. Deborah is what we in the disability world would call a “Caregiver”, and she is extremely good at it. Because of her vast, intimate knowledge of who I am, who I have been, and who I want to be, she is (almost) perfect in this role. No one else could ever do what she does, and that’s the truth. No one.

When I think of losing Deborah, my honest first reaction is “Well, that’s a wrap on ol’ Russ, too.” And I would immediately down a bottle of clonazepam and fall into the forever sleep. Not because I have some ridiculous notion that she and I would meet in some afterlife. No, I would die by suicide because life would be too hard without her, and it would no longer have a point.

Here is my greatest fear: I would lose the love and companionship, but almost as important I would lose the support, the caregiving. You don’t understand, I have such a hard time with life-skills. I can’t pay my own bills, I can’t hold down a job, I can’t remember what day it is or what I’m supposed to do tomorrow. I can’t keep track of my appointments or even my daily medication. All the intricate systems we’re developing to keep my life glued together would completely fall apart. I would not only have lost the most important person in my whole life, I would be destitute.

I would be in abject poverty. Most likely I would end up in a group home, which is about the worst thing I can imagine having consulted for them in the past. See, I’ve worked with people like me when I was more functional. I know the system I would become a part of, a system Debo and I are working hard to avoid.

Why am I saying all of this depressing shit? Well, I’m pretty depressed and melty today. I have a friend going through a similar situation, so the issue is in front of my head. But most importantly, YOU NEED TO KNOW.

You need to know because if this ever happens I’m going to need you, my friends. I’m probably going to have to live with someone. I’m going to need a lot of help. I’m scared that won’t happen. This blog is an insurance policy for an awful life-situation that’s completely plausible. I don’t have a family, so to speak. My father and I talk, my two cousins and I talk, but that’s it. My safety net is torn apart. I will have nowhere to go but a bottle of pills.

I’m not trying to scare anyone, or be overly morbid, I’m just trying to be honest. I always try to be authentic, this is no different. It’s a future cry for help before it’s too late.

PS, Deborah is in fine health. We both are, other than my usual bullshit.

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