Spiral

CW: Discussion of mental illness and death

“Time for bed, Shadow.” I call out to my elderly dog while tossing a freeze dried chicken treat into his crate. 

He obediently lumbers off the couch, down the soft doggy stairs that help his aging hips and into his crate for the night. I kneel down to wish Shadow ‘sweet dreams’ as he loudly chomps on his treat and I pull a blanket over top of his crate to keep the errant city lights from bothering his sleep. 

I then walk around my apartment doing my nightly check. Kitchen window, locked. Living room windows, locked. Bathroom window, locked. And the final check of the night - the deadbolt on my front door. Locked. 

Remember Jenny, you locked everything, no need to check again. 

I climb up the ladder to my lofted bed, and check once more that everything seems to be in order in my apartment. Before settling in, I pull out my journal from the nightstand and in my messy handwriting log everything that is on my mind: unfinished work tasks, groceries and a prescription pickup for Shadow’s arthritis. 

Just write it all down, no need to judge what is on the paper. My therapist’s words run through my mind as we get to the irrational anxiety portion of my journaling. I write about how I think I might be fired at work, even though I just got a promotion, which makes me worry my manager is lying to me, which makes me think of how sometimes I feel people just pretend to be my friend, which makes me worry I am completely unlovable. 

I chew the cap of my pen as I reread the word ‘unlovable’ until it looks like a jumble of letters with no meaning. With a huff, I close the journal and slam it shut into the nightstand drawer. 

That didn’t really help, did it? I think to myself, biting my cuticle. I can feel the anxiety crawling up my throat, threatening to suffocate me. I try to take a few deep breaths when a new, but not unfamiliar, thought pops into my head: did I lock the front door? 

I try to shake it out of my mind but it persists…as it does every night. 

Don’t feed the thought, you know you locked the door. But…maybe that was last night and I’m confusing the two nights? I have been so frazzled lately I could be misremembering, I better check. 

So I flip my weighted blanket off, pad down the ladder, past Shadow’s crate, whispering an apology for disturbing his sleep and flick on the overhead light to see the front door better. I place my hand on the metal lock, flipping it open then closed, confirming it is in the locked position.  

Okay, now I know it’s locked. I turn off the light and climb the ladder to bed. 

I decide to run through a meditation I have memorized in my head in an attempt to calm myself to sleep.

Breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out. Full belly breath…hold for 5,4,3,2 and out through the mouth. 

At around full belly breath nine, my eyes pop open remembering I didn’t lock the bathroom window after my evening post-workout shower. I pause the recording in my head, flip off the weighted blanket with a thud, climb down the rungs of the ladder, past Shadow’s crate, whispering “sorry” again, and into my tiny bathroom. I tap on my phone’s flashlight, shining the light up towards the window and I can immediately see that the window is locked but I still push against the old wood frame.

Figuring that while I’m here, I might as well pee so I hopefully don’t have to wake up at 3 a.m. tonight. While sitting, I clear the notifications on my lock screen and softly smile at the photo of Shadow and I. It was taken while on a trip to the beach last summer, a selfie of us, where he is trying to get a secret lick of my ice cream cone. I did let him have a little after the photo. What can I say? We both love ice cream. 

Over the flush of the toilet I swear I hear the distinct jiggle of the front door handle. I freeze, my blood runs cold, and I listen for the noise again, but it does not repeat. 

I reason with myself to check the front door is locked just once more to help quell the fear of whatever that noise was. 

Back in bed, with the weighted blanket pulled up to my chin, I restart the meditation. 

Sleep starts to pull me under when the noise of the jiggling handle radiates throughout my apartment. I bolt upright, ice once again fills my veins and my heart feels like it’s in my throat. 

Shadow whines in his crate, filling me with dread that he heard it too and it was not just my half asleep brain playing tricks on me. 

The knob jiggles again, Shadow’s whines get louder.

This is the exact scene that would replay in my head over and over again. A scenario my friends, my family, my therapist all told me was unlikely since I lived in a high-rise with a door man. 

But, it wasn’t always a stranger off the streets I imagined but rather a neighbor. Someone who could easily figure out my routine. Who could ask me about myself under the guise of being neighborly but really to collect bits and bobs about myself that I might’ve let slip in casual conversation, because they are just a neighbor after all. But, do any of us really know what our neighbors do in their own home? 

The handle jiggles again and Shadow growls this time. A low, deep growl I did not know my 10 pound dog was capable of making. I reach for my phone but…shit…I left it in the bathroom. 

Time feels like it slows down at this moment as my brain runs wild at what nightmare is trying to get inside. It imagines the intruder coming in to kill me, leaving me dead and Shadow locked in his crate hoping someone will rescue him before he starves. I cannot let that happen. I will not let that happen. 

I am on the third to last rung of the ladder, when I jump off nearly losing my balance and make a run for the bathroom, except the deadbolt clicks open. Without a second thought, I rush for the baseball bat with a sock on it that I keep near the entryway to hopefully get two good whacks before running for my phone. For Shadow. 

But, no one comes in. A cold shiver passes over me as I click the deadbolt locked. Still poised to hit someone, I listen for voices or footsteps, anything to indicate the would-be intruder is still on the other side. 

Shadow’s growl becomes a small whimper and then he is quiet. At his silence, I figure the threat is gone. I peak out the peep hole and see no one in the hallway. 

“We’re safe now, Shadow. You scared them away, good boy.” I praise him as I crawl onto the couch beside his crate too tired to climb the ladder again and wrap myself in a thick blanket as the adrenaline dump has left me freezing. 

***

I can hear my alarm going off in the distance, oh right, it’s still in the bathroom. My eyes open slowly feeling sandy from the fitful night’s sleep. 

“Good morning sweetie.” I greet Shadow like I do every morning before pulling the blanket off his crate. 

“Still sleepy I see.” As I notice he is curled up. 

“I know it was a crazy night but I’m sure you have to potty.” I kneel down to unlatch his crate and realize I never did lock it. I open the door but he does not stir. 

“Shadow…” My voice trails off and tears fill my eyes. Shadow is laying peacefully in his crate, there is no rise and fall of his chest. 

***

In the days after the worst day of my life, I think it was Death that came for Shadow that night. I spent my sweet boy’s last night spiraling about some made up scenario of a murderous neighbor. But, it wasn’t just that one night. How many nights have I wasted running up and down the ladder checking windows and doors, waking Shadow up with my anxiety when I could have, should have, kept his steady breathing and warm body close to mine to calm my mind. No meditation I’ve done so many times I’ve memorized, no amount of journal entries, no money paid in therapy, makes up for the love of a girl and her dog.