The Icy Grip of Fear

Beard had been struggling most of his adult life to be able to get a decent nights sleep. Major role in the inability to do exactly that was played by the fact that he got irritated every time he tried to fall asleep by the fact that he was well aware of the cacophony of noises that would follow. He truly desired to able to sleep silently throughout the night but there wasn’t much he could do to bring about his wish. And since he wanted to be taken seriously and leave an impression of himself as a true “Estonian” man there was no chance he would ever ask for help. He was no wuss!

He had tried to touch upon the subject of seeking professional help with his male friends. every time he did that he ended up being categorised as a “pussy”, “inadequate”, “softy” and myriad of other adjectives one could come up with in relation to being soft. This attitude towards alleged weakness was all pervasive. it wasn’t just about insecurities relating to sleep. it was projected broadly upon his life and then used as basis for a consensus that anything but flattering. What Beard was as of yet unaware wast the fact that his attitudes towards such generalisations where about to undergo a radical change.

It all began in a pitch black darkness. While trying to figure out where the hell his phone was only thought going through his head was “what the hell?!!” Upon locating his device Beard realised that it was one thirty in the morning and his students won’t be in the classroom for another seven and a half hours. Trying to find his bearings between damp sheets covered in cold sweat, his heart beating uncontrollably, his mind racing from the thoughts related to the last place he saw his blood pressure medication was his own personal nightmare. “Damn it! Here we go again!” was the best motivational speech he could give himself at that moment. “No worries! Just pop the pill and be done with it!” It wasn’t the first time his blood pressure had gone through the roof for no apparent reason. All he needed to do was get to his medicine and tough it out. All will be honky dory in the end – he would get through the night and then get some fresh air on his way to work. “It will all work out just fine!” was the last sane thought he had that night .

Beard managed to get out of bed, locate his medicine and take his pill. Stagerring back to bed was a non-brainer. He didn’t need to focus, muscle memory would take care of everything. Back in bed he spent hours lying aimlessly with zero hope of falling a sleep. The world had almost come to a stop. Time was moving slower than ever. His mind seemed to be frozen, anticipating some kind of divine intervention or something. But no intervention occurred. He simply lay there like a log, eyes open staring into the ceiling hoping fo the sleep to come. It didn’t …

After a while, having accepted the fact that him falling asleep is not going to happen, Beard made up his mind to proceed to his morning routine of hygiene and self loathing when suddenly a chill ran down his spine and he found himself staring at the realisation that something is horribly wrong. And not just “I am about to have a bad day” wrong. As wrong as the wrong can be wrong.

His body was not obeying his wishes. He felt out of breath and nothing he tried work. he just couldn’t get enough air into his lungs. “Shit! What now!” was the only thing he could start thinking about when the panic set in. He subcontiously went through the “to-do” list in case of a heart attack but realised that the symptoms are not there. It was something else entirely. Feeling out of breath and fearing that he would loose consciousness any second know he attempted to come to terms with his faith. “Well! I guess this is it then … Can’t say my stay on this earth mounted to much, but who knows … Seems I won’t be getting a second chance to prove my worth …”

Suddenly his body resorted to an attempt to get out of bed, sort of a means of last resort or something. He was up but he was still out of breath. “Well, I better take what’s coming next standing up like a man!” No dignity in going out lying down.

Throughout his life he had found himself in different situations that had involved fear. Some of those situations where self inflicted. Others had occurred out of his inability to idly pass by when someone needed help or was in a bit of a bother. Now it seemed that the architect of the universe had come up with an especially brutal and cunning end game for his idiotic nature – demise to the fear itself.

Getting up might have been a protest against taking a loss lying down, but it was also an idiotic thing to do. Beard realised that it had taken all his remaining strength to achieve this gargantuan goal and know the last remnants of oxygen that he had had in his lungs where gone. The icy sweat was back covering his body like a wet blanket. His brain had succumbed to darkness and felt empty of all thoughts that had ever occupied it.

Prior to that moment Beard had been of an opinion that he has lost all ability to experience fear or anxiety. Yet standing in the darkness of his own bedroom, feeling the icy grip of fear intensifying around his heart every second that passed, he realised how wrong he had been. He learned the hard way that he was a mere mortal – he wouldn’t live for ever … As a means of last resort his brain yelled to him “run!!!” but he knew there was nowhere to run. He was at the verge of the abyss and, steering into the darkness of unknown. For a second he found himself thinking “maybe this is it … I might find some peace in there …” Right before succumbing to the darkness of the abyss, his brain made on last desperate attempt to connect with reality. It suggested to him that there might be a way out if he acted quickly. So he did what rules of “real masculinity” and “true manhood” would disapprove and even shun him for – he reached out his hand to call for help …