The Power of the Mind

My boyfriend and I have been dating for just over twelve months, when he receives a promotion at work. It is a fantastic career move for him but unfortunately it means he has to move to another state, five hundred kilometres away.

It is a conundrum for sure, because career-wise it would be foolish to pass up, but what does that mean for our relationship?

Over the next few weeks we discuss our options; everything from calling it quits and going our own way; to trialling a long distance relationship; or even, both of us, as a couple, moving inter-state.

There are pros and cons to them all but finally we decide to bite the bullet and both move together. We felt our relationship was the real deal.

My boyfriend, Matty, is super excited. There is no real downsides for Matty as the only person he has locally is me and as I am leaving with him, he doesn’t have any gut-wrenching ties to sever. I, however, have my entire life. I was born and bred in this town and everyone, I mean everyone — family, friends and memories — are all to be left behind.

Don’t get me wrong, there is also excitement and I know I am doing the right thing, but I also know it is going to be tough saying goodbye.

Five hundred kilometres isn’t that far away after all!

That doesn’t stop my stress and anxiety though.

The day finally arrives and we make the move. We rent the cutest little house and as this is my first time living away from home, I have so much fun setting up house with Matty. It is all ours, from the kitchen cooking area to the bedroom, to decorate and organise as we wish. It certainly keeps me busy.

But it is the nighttime hours that I find rough. Those hours when I want to relax, or sleep, that play havoc with my fears, my stress, my anxiety. This would manifest as nightmares and night terrors. My subconscious mind having a ball with all the thoughts and heartache I’d push aside in the daytime hours.

There were nights I’ll be sound asleep one minute, the next I’ll be sitting up in bed screaming at the top of my lungs; other nights were a little tamer and I’ll wake suddenly in a cold sweat for no apparent reason.

Then one particular night, after we’d had a few drinks celebrating Matty’s first day at the new job, is particularly harrowing.

It was late when we went to bed and it didn’t take me long to fall into a deep sleep. Hours later I am ripped from blissful sleep to the ringing of our doorbell. A sound that seems to screech along every one of my nerve endings. The hair on the back of my neck is standing straight and a creepy sliver of fear runs down my spine.

At 4 o’clock in the morning, the ringing of our doorbell is fucking nerve wracking, to say the least.

I lean over and roughly shake Matty awake. I hear him mumble to me to leave him alone as he is tired and has a big day coming up that day, but I keep shaking him. When I finally get his attention and he is staring at me bleary-eyed, I explain that I heard someone frantically ringing our doorbell.

Matty seems to pick up on my fear.

Finally, he climbs out of bed, opens the wardrobe, and pulls out a baseball bat. He quickly pulls on some clothes and edges his way down the hallway to the front door.

Meanwhile, I am scared shitless, but not able to stay in the bedroom unaware of what is going on, so I am peering terrifyingly around the corner, watching closely.

Matty listens at the front door for a few seconds, before unlocking the door and ripping it open.

There is sheer deadening silence.

He peers behind himself and gives me a shrug of his shoulders before opening the door fully, baseball bat raised. He gingerly takes a step over the threshold, his head swivelling from one side to the other, but the deck is empty.

There is no one there!

Matty steps out onto the decking and peers into the front yard, turning left and then right, while I nervously await the verdict at the end of the hall.

I watch as Matty’s shoulders slump and he turns to face me, the bat falling from his hands. He looks at me and I can see the dawning frustration cross his face, followed by weary resignation.

“Babe,” he tiredly utters.

“Yes,” I quietly whisper, anxiously waiting for the dreadful news to be declared.

“We don’t have a fucking doorbell!”

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Originally published on Medium