You Can't Reason it Out of Me--I've Always Been this Way and. I'm. Stubborn. to. Boot.

Admittedly, I'm not the most calm and collected person in the world. I've never claimed to be--in any way, shape, or form. I know that I can be (at times) completely neurotic and irrational. I fully embrace these tendencies despite all of the time consuming and mentally deteriorating work my mother put forth trying to "insult this out of me" from childhood.

I often envision the "worst case scenario" when faced with a difficult situation or frightening circumstance. My husband lovingly refers to me occasionally as the "Queen of What If's". I attempt to excuse reason away my paranoia to the very best of my ability. In MY world all of this makes absolute sense and is only preparation for what potentially may happen. If I think things out completely, I will know how to react for whatever consequence befalls me. Yep. Truly, I'm not a big fan of surprises.

After all, how imposible is it really that the car may go off of the road and roll down the mountain? If it did, I just know that my window could bust on a giant rock. This rock would crush my skull and I would then bleed to death on the mountainside. All because there are NO GUARDRAILS.

I mean, really...it could happen.

These kinds of thoughts are the VERY reason you may see me riding around the north Georgia mountains in the passenger seat of our car with a pillow secured against the window and me clutching it as if it were to move, I'd surely die. Because you know, that pillow will prevent my brains from being some racoon's dinner later that night if this little scenario really DID pan out.

Ok...so it sounds a little crazy all written out like that. BUT IN MY HEAD IT IS A VERY REAL POSSIBILITY. I already know I need drugs, so save yourselves from unwanted advice and concerns. It's never worked for anyone else and I seriously doubt that you will be the one to turn my life all around.

I love you anyway.

I was reading something earlier today that inspired this post. I started to think back to where this all began... I don't know if this is the FIRST episode, but this is the first that I can recall:

I remember lying in bed as a little girl on many cold winter's nights in sub-zero Ohio dressed in layers of clothing that included two pairs of socks and gloves. Stranger yet, (as if that isn't strange enough) is that I don't remember ever waking up drenched in sweat from all of that clothing. (Perhaps this was because my mother made us keep the thermostat just above freezing in order to save on the electric bill?!?) Nevertheless, I was prepared.

"For WHAT?!" you may ask.

FOR A FIRE.




Duh.

I also had a small suitcase packed in the closet that held everything near and dear to my heart. It contained some family photographs, a locket my grandma gave to me, some friendship bracelets, and a few letters from my aunt. This "survival pack" also included contents of two piggy banks, two Capri-Suns, and three candy bars.

Note: Occasionally the food was replaced during a midnight snack or two.

The food items were in case I were to be out there for a while before anyone found me and I started to get hungry. There was also the possibility that the entire family would be burned to death and I were to be left to fend for myself, I'd at least eat for a day. I'm not really sure what my line of thinking was, but I'm sure it was one of the two.

I kept this suitcase near the front of the closet so that I could open the closet door and grab it quickly with one fluid motion if the need were to arise. This of course would occur right after I shoved the blanket under the bedroom door to give me a little more time for my escape.

I also kept a 'Lil Slugger underneath the bed...and a brick. (Indeed, I had a backup plan.) These weapons of mass defense were there just in case I needed to break the window because it wouldn't open to let me out.

My brother and I used to have these stickers on our windows that were there to let the firemen know that there was a child inside of that room. I used to be SURE that the snow on the other side of the window didn't cover that spot and actually taped florescent stickers around it so that they were SURE to see MINE. I was evidently also very self-centered as a kid because I don't ever remembering worrying about anyone else in the household.

It was all about my escape and survival.

What's really odd is that my parents seemed to be completely oblivious to this little freakiness I had going on in the back bedroom. I don't remember them ever asking WHY I had those things in my room or why I slept in so much clothing.

Perhaps they just thought I was collecting things and was cold?! I have no idea. Maybe they really didn't know. I would think that if they did my mother would have found this the perfect opportunity to enroll me in some secretive kind of therapy. (Because you know, of course we can't let people KNOW that we as a family are completely crazy and disfunctional.)

I remember this starting when I was probably around ten years old. I also really only worried about this happening in the dead of winter. I suppose I thought that if it happened in the summer there wouldn't be so strong a need for survival tactics?

Nevertheless, for some reason this fear suddenly disappeared when I turned thirteen. I'm really not sure why but after that I don't think I ever really thought about it.

Maybe it was because I had come to realize that the chances of this happening were quite slim...and moved past the insanity. Perhaps it just manifested itself in another way. This sounds more reasonable to me.

I probably found something else to focus on that entailed much less work.

Or maybe it's because I was hitting puberty and with all of those hormones raging though my body all of that clothing was just too damn hot.