The storm was coming and I knew there was no way to avoid it. I knew I should have left, but I couldn’t convince myself to leave my house. If it was destroyed, I would accompany it. All my worldly memories and possessions were tied up in this three bedroom house and I knew I wouldn’t survive a change. A move. Living inside four new walls was unbearable. I had just gotten used to my new place and knew we would either be okay or we would both perish. Either way we would be together.
I sat on the floor in the middle of my living room and closed my eyes. I listened to the storm raging all around me and tried to calm my pounding heart. In reality, I really enjoyed storms. As long as the storm was mild and it was just wind and rain. Tornadoes, hurricanes, and earthquakes terrified me. I liked to be in control and natural disasters couldn’t be controlled. I could only remind myself I could only control my reactions. My agoraphobia happened when my mother disappeared. I had ideas she disappeared because she didn’t want to deal with me anymore, but the police quickly squashed that idea when they came sniffing around asking me if I had anything to do with her being missing.
I still had flares of panic of maybe it was my fault she was gone, but I did find myself enjoying the peace and quiet. There was no one to nag on me about staying home and not having enough friends. There was no one to sigh every time I woke up at my normal seven AM instead of sleeping until almost noon. As the storm continued to rage all around me, I tried to make peace with my decision to stay. I did love the house more than many would consider to be normal, but I also knew the storm had the possibility of unearthing my mother’s body from the backyard. And no one could know she was there and why.