A view of Chicago from Minneapolis.
I rarely go on vacations. I’m not opposed to them, but my preconceived notions of every destination always seem to cloud my judgment to the point of inaction. As a result, I spend a majority of my time navigating the areas I’m familiar with, rarely deviating from my comfort zone. My girlfriend hates it. Last summer, while on hiatus from school, she began suggesting we take a trip. As the weeks wore on, her suggestions turned into requests, then her requests began taking the shape of demands. It wasn’t long before I was packing my bags, navigating my anxieties and looking for things to do for three days in Chicago.
To be scared is one thing; anxiety is another one. … If you are in a battle and you have bombs and bullets and shrapnel and everything is going up in the air, that’s why you can be scared. But it doesn’t really compare to the anxiety. You see, the anxiety … is something much deeper in a way, because it sticks to you all the time. Are we going to make another day? Are we going to be arrested? … It’s all the impending menace, you know, all the time, all the time. And that’s anxiety. I find anxiety worse than fear.
I don’t know that it had anything to do with us,” my father said. But how could it have not? Doesn’t the blood of every suicide splash back on our faces?