Mountains and molehills

For two nights in a row, I heard a noise at my window. It sounded like a flying bug was stuck between the shade and the glass. Whenever I tried to look for it, though, I couldn’t find it.

This made for a rough time for me. You see, I had a really hard time sleeping with all that noise. And it was loud for sure. Without knowing what it was, my mind was imagining all sorts of things. I lay in bed, eyes squeezed shut, telling my anxiety over and over it was just a tiny beetle.

It wasn’t a mouse. It wasn’t going to jump into bed with me. It wouldn’t fly over to me. It was just a beetle.

By the second night, my fear had calmed down. Of course, that’s when Diesel finally heard the noise. With my anxiety ratcheting back up, he decided to hunt it down.

“It’s just a beetle,” I repeated to him. He decided that whatever it was was actually outside the window. I didn’t believe him, but we have a history.

Many years ago, I felt tremors in our bed. Diesel has always had a habit of moving a leg or foot while he sleeps, usually when they are hurting him. This had woken me up, though, and I wasn’t too happy about it.

Half-awake, I nudged him. “Quit shaking the bed.”

Also half-awake, he answered, “What are you talking about?”

“Your legs. Quit shaking your legs because it’s moving the bed.”

“I’m not.”

Yikes. Okay, I thought, so what would move the bed like that?

“Maybe it’s the rock trucks driving by.”

“No, it isn’t. I didn’t hear any of them.”

This continued on for another minute or two, him giving me a reasonable answer and me not believing it.

“Or it’s an earthquake,” he finally said, then rolled over and fell back asleep. I, meanwhile, was wide awake for the rest of the night into morning worrying about an earthquake that may or may not have happened and could happen again.

So there I was the other night, remembering this and trying to accept the reasonable answer. It was really just a tiny little beetle, of those orange beetles known to flitter around the room incessantly. It was annoying but not scary.

Then Diesel moved the window shade and Mothra flew out.

Well, okay, maybe not Mothra. Possibly its twin. I held my breath so as to not shriek and risk waking up Choo-choo. Diesel dutifully smashed Mothra, scooped its body up into a tissue, and carried it away.

I was left in a state of shock. People always say not to make mountains out of molehills. From my experience, however, sometimes a “molehill” really is mountain. Or in this case, Mothra.

 

Author: stepbackandbreathe33

I am a writer, mother, wife, and fighter in the battle against depression, anxiety, OCD, and PTSD.

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