Night Journal
I headed out to the supermarket this evening. I tucked a small underarm bag against my right side. In my left hand, I held a mini fan and my phone, listening to music as I walked.
At one point, I wanted to switch things to the other hand. When I loosened my grip on the bag tucked under my right arm, the front of the bag lurched forward slightly. Cast by the streetlights, it created a shifting shadow on the pavement.
Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted that sudden movement. Instantly, I thought a small animal had darted out from nowhere. I was utterly terrified in that split second.
Standing there catching my breath, I sank into my thoughts. This has always been me. Ever since I was little, any unexpected sight or sound triggers an extreme fright response. Anything I cannot anticipate jolts me badly, almost like a persistent stress reaction. When I used to share a place with friends, a surprise tap on my back or a sudden loud noise from a door would send me into shock.
I hate being this way. I wish I could stay calm and unflustered. Whenever something catches me off guard, my heart rate shoots up to 130 beats per minute. Logically, I know there is no danger, yet my body reacts before my mind can process what is happening.
These involuntary reactions stem from difficult experiences in my childhood. Still, I do not want to keep talking about the past or use old hardships as an explanation for my sensitivity. I keep hoping I can change, that I can learn to remain composed amid small surprises. Sometimes I scare myself for no obvious reason, and I feel helpless, unable to gain control.
Deep down, my nervous system remains perpetually on high alert after all these years. It learned to stay vigilant as a way to protect me. I am trying to accept this part of myself.
I hope that someday, minor disruptions will no longer alarm me. I hope my nerves can finally unwind, and I can grow into someone who meets life’s surprises with peace.