AUDIO: Notes from a bad news morning

Exploring the lingering fear that "something bad is going to happen"

I thought I was over this. The fear of bad news used to hover over me, like a hawk, waiting to pounce. It managed to be irrational… and totally rational all at once. After all, anyone who has experienced death (particularly sudden death) knows that bad things do happen, suddenly and shatteringly so. My stomach would drop when my phone rang and I’d search ‘stabbings Soho’ in the Twitter search bar if I didn’t hear from my best friend the morning after the night before… I lived in a heightened state of constant panic.

And in some ways, I liked it. It meant that I lived my life spontaneously and lovingly so, always telling people how I felt and embracing the smallest moments of joy. I also slowly, began to trust my phone when it rang. But then, one morning fairly recently, I received the news my dad had spent the night in hospital. She has heart issues (she had a major, almost fatal heart attack very shortly after my mum died) and her doctor is really good at monitoring them, and keeping her safe. Yet my mind jumped to the worst possible outcome. I was particularly cross as I’d let my guard down, as I’d been a angry with her a few days before. It made me realise that while my fear of death pushes me to inhale the joy of life, it really doesn’t allow me to sit within the thorny parts.

I hate confrontation, which feels a weird thing to type, who enjoys it?! Maybe what I mean is I handle confrontation really badly. I let arguments linger longer than they should, I assume that a few cross words will spiral into that person hating me and, ultimately, leaving me. So… I avoid it. Which isn’t… great.

So I think I need to examine my fear of “something bad is going to happen” and accept that it could, that it will, but I can’t ruminate on it? I’m not sure! Help me! Have you felt this way? What do you find helps? Let me (and others) know in the comments. And here’s the poem below if you couldn’t listen above…

I crack the egg on the surface, roll it back and forth
The shattering shell whispers 
She can't die. She can't die. She can't die. 

I roll my toothbrush rhythmically around my mouth
The buzz becomes a hiss 
She can't die. She can't die. She can't die. 

I lock the bathroom door
It clicks
She can't.

My lungs begin to heave. Heavy with fact
She will. 

And what then? But also
What now? 

I was angry with her. The moment her heart screamed for help
I rarely allow myself rage
I could yell and she could... 

They go. The ones you love go 
You take a breath as they lose theirs 

Then I watch a video she sent me
Tales of the hospital ward... 
In it, she laughs. And I think... 

I love her in joy. I love her in anger.

She knows that. Even when she's dust
She'll know
That. That has to be enough.