My Years of Fear and Grief

When I was a kid, we got robbed. Me and my family had spent the day outside, and when we returned, tired and ready to collapse, the house was not the one we had left that morning. It was a disaster. Furniture overturned, drawers emptied, most of our stuff gone. The police arrived, promising to look into it, some questions, some investigation, then silence.

And I still remember that night, that I couldn’t bring myself to sleep in my room. The window there seemed to whisper to me, though I knew it was just the wind weaving through the branches of the trees outside. Still, it unsettled me. I curled up on the couch instead, trying to convince myself it was just another day.

But the nightmares didn’t stay behind. They followed me, night after night. In my dreams, the thief always came back. This time, he didn’t just take things. He chased me, relentlessly, hurling knives and rocks as I ran. It felt ridiculous, I didn't even see the guy, and getting robbed - even then - was just an unfortunate thing that some people are victims of, but it was just that. I couldn't understand why it would affect me so much, even after years, of being scared of something that I thought I had moved on from. I didn't think about the robbery that much in my daily life, I was still going to school, still hanging out with my friends, but at night when I put my head to the pillow, it was like my brain was living in a different world.

My dreams started to change over time of course, and I wasn't the only one at risk anymore. I would always dream about death. Death of anything. Death of anyone. I can't close or lock the door, I can't run, I can't save them. I would feel sick because I didn't want to mention these nightmares to anyone, that maybe talking about them would somehow make them real, and I was fully aware they were just inside my head.

But they weren't just inside my head anymore. I wouldn't forget these kind of dreams, and they would haunt me during my daily activities. I was scared of heights now and if we were somewhere high, I would imagine the million awful possibilities of accidents that might happen. I remember begging my mom to step away from the edge of a dangerous cliff because my brain just would not stop telling me that something was going to happen. Stairs scare me because I'm going to fall, this bus I'm in is going to crash into another in five minutes, this is my last day in this city.

That causes so many problems of course, because I am always aware of death now. I'm already grieving people I haven't lost yet.

I imagine the worst before it even happens, feeling the pain of absence that hasn’t arrived. I am a child, and an adult can come into my room and take everything I have from me at any moment.

However, I also think this, all of this, brings in a feeling of resilience despite the awareness of loss. I’ve learned to “enjoy the moment,” as they say. It’s like standing in the eye of a storm, knowing the winds could pick up again at any second, but for now, everything is still. And I hold on to that. It's cliché, yes, but it makes the present feel sharper for me, more vivid. I'm holding onto small dates with friends in newly opened cafes, going home for the holidays, watching movies in a room full of random people I'll never see. What else can life be about?