Contagions of the most vile and nastiest sort

The poured concrete that composed the steps behind her backdoor was hot and grainy under her bare feet. To claim that the backdoor was "hers" is indeed a stretch. She recently returned to the west coast in an attempt to get reacquainted with sunsets and palm trees. She was living on her friends couch and well, I suppose to say she was "living" is a bit of a stretch also. The four by eight plot behind the apartment was the only spot she felt at ease. The inside was messy and chaotic. Boxes were piled to the ceiling even though the couple had lived there for 2 years. The decor was most certainly not her style, mainly because there was none, although, she did find the random tire outside of the bathroom door to be a nice touch. The kicker was the kitchen. Regardless of how many times she scoured it from ceiling to floor, at night the "other" tenants would still scurry out with all six of their creepy little legs from every drawer, crack and crevice. So, it was no wonder why she would sit out back for hours on end with her bottle of tequila and wonder what exactly happened to land her here at twenty-five years of age. Her address may have been in "America's Finest City" but it certainly didn't look like it from where she was sitting.

All aspects of her life were looking bleak. Unemployed, uninsured, unmarried, unstimulated, unsatisfied. Of course, if her phone rang from one of her friends back east she would never admit that. As far as they knew, she had several job leads, a thriving social life and a quaint but nice place to sleep. Her dishonesty would leave her feeling unsettled. She began to take personal inventory of her attitude and its relatedness to her situation. In the forefront of her mind all she initially saw was all her short comings and all the people whom she failed to prove wrong in their disbelief of her ability to thrive anywhere. She was overlooking every accomplishment she had achieved over the four years since she left home. She was overlooking every characteristic that she possessed that previously empowered her to acquire the recognition she rightfully earned.

Swig. "Limes and salt are for pussies and amateurs".

So, what had changed? What was the difference? How come previously she was able to make her own destiny, whereas now it seemed that she was predetermined for failure? Risk and adventure used to ignite her. They were worthy and adversary opponents. The opportunities used to seem infinite. Now, they were limited. Sure, the job market had adjusted slightly over the years but she wasn't opposed to starting from scratch and now she was more qualified and experienced. Hell, she even had a resume and a good one at that.

Swig. "Not bad for fourteen bucks a bottle"

That evening she had received a phone call from an old friend, probably the only friend who she knew could relate to her sentiments of failure and despair. He was a friend she couldn't lie to about her situation, nor did she feel the need to.

"And...and... I hate it here. I hate everything about it. I hate the people, I hate the weather, I hate the- UGH! It's just all so... so very 'ugh'!"

Swig.

This phone call, this audible conversation, this friend was exactly what she needed. She needed someone who was going to call her on her bullshit. She needed someone who was going to point out her blatant hostility. Hatred and negativity are contagions of the most vile and nastiest sort. It wasn't she who had changed, he pointed out. It was her outlook. It was her attitude. It was the pessimism of herself and others that she let into her mind to fester. She needed to open her mind and clear her head of all the prefixes of "un-" and "ir-" and "non-", he advised. She needed to open her heart to love and appreciation, starting with herself but eventually love of the experience that is life. After all, "We only get one ride" he reminded her.

Click. Call ended. Swig. "Damn, I miss him".

Everyday  for the next three weeks she awoke from the couch to a text message from her friend. They were always something positive, whether it be a brief summary of his current thriving band project, a small comedic anecdote from his daily life, a quote from whichever book he was reading at the time, or simply a message stating, "Hope you have a great day. Remember, it's all just a ride".

Over the course of those three weeks she began getting up and showered earlier. She resumed running and other such activities that spiked her blood pressure and made her feel alive. She altered her vocabulary and began ignoring calls from people who solely wanted to complain and wallow. She regained her confidence and possibilities again seemed abundant.

By the end of that three week period she had landed a respectable job back east and had appointments to tour apartments in the coming week. She was packing up her belongings and lining up her suitcases. Well, to say she was "packing" is a bit of a stretch, it could more accurately be described as cramming and consolidating. How she acquired more of anything that Summer was beyond her, but the one thing she didn't mind leaving behind, the one thing she most certainly wouldn't miss would be negativity.

A toast

"Somewhere along the way, I became a lot less interesting".

Those words resonated within her for the better part of Autumn, all the horrid parts of Winter and a decent portion of Spring. Once a traveler, a nomad of sorts, she prided herself on adventure and independence. Lively, colorful, bright, curious and free, Fear was merely an excuse others used to stay inside their imaginary boxes. It held no value in the way she lived. Well, like a young child demanding attention, Fear threw itself on the floor at her feet, arms wailing, legs kicking and the screaming ensued as if to say, "I'll give HER something to fear".

She had allowed herself to become vulnerable. She ignored all things logical and fell in love. She fell in love with a man, but she married herself to an ideal. It wasn't until that fateful day when Fear and Fate ganged up on her, like a pair of bulldog-esque lawyers, and served her divorce papers that she learned what it truly meant to live with Fear in her heart.

Nearly everything inside her died that day. Innocence: ruptured, Faith: broken, Optimism: shattered, Trust: punctured beyond repair. If it was possible for the injuries on a person's spirit to be itemized and documented, this would have been her autopsy report. Her soul died on impact that day and Fear marched right in to fill all the voids her precious ideal left behind. She packed up her shoes, pots and pans, coats, and Christmas cards. She headed up north, bundled in Fear and Regret, longing for the familiar. She was ready to settle down, and "down" and "settled" is accurately where she found herself ten months later.

Friends would offer her words of encouragement, but what would be encouraging to them only fed the Fear inside of her. "It'll get easier with time", "He would WANT you to be happy", "You'll feel like your old self soon, give it time", "You're back home now, it's going to be ok". To someone who didn't want it to get "easier" this was insulting. To someone who knew what he wanted when he was alive this was degrading. To someone who knew she would never have anything in common with her former self this was ignorant. However, to someone who never wanted to call this life "home" (again), this was terrifying. Further below she sank. The more people who came into- back into, her life the more she felt alone. Not the liberating sense of independence she previously experienced while on her own. This version of alone was a dark one. She wasn't really alone though, and I'm not implying that she had an angel at her side but quite the opposite. It was the devil. It was defeat. It was Fear.

She accepted life as if her script was written and all the beauty and adventure she previously reveled in had a light haze around it as that of a dream. Here awaited her reality. It was gray and cold and bleak and, oh god, it was mundane. It was as if someone gave Life a lobotomy and dumbed down all it's glorious insanity, leaving it predictable and emotionless.

But wait. What's this? Fear, her new best friend, was still here. However, he began working in her favor. Fear was at this moment, on her side. She began to fear accepting this as her sentence. Fear had awoken something inside of her late that spring. She remembered what it felt like to think independently, to write her OWN script. She didn't want her life to be justified by circumstance, even if she suffered miserably at the hands of fate last year. She wanted her life to be just that, her own. Beautiful, bright, colorful and lively. If she was going to claim her life back, she first had to accept ownership of it. In order to do that, she had to say farewell to a friend.

"So here's looking at you, kid. We had a great run. We've had our ups and downs but I think secretly we both knew this relationship wasn't going to make it in the long haul. Fear, thanks for the laughs but it's time we go our separate ways".