I think everyone's dead

It's quite distressing.

I check my phone again. Nothing.

“Hey honey, let me know when you receive this,” I type out yet another message and press Send. My message is delivered, but remains unread just like the dozens I’ve sent the past few hours.

Maybe he’s not hearing the pings. I try calling again. No answer.

I place my phone on the kitchen counter and begin pacing. Back and forth and back again—my eyes never leaving the phone, willing it to come to life.

I’m sure he’s fine. He’s probably just busy. But what if he’s not fine? What if something’s happened? Shit. I call again.

The phone rings and rings. I’m about to end the call when finally my boyfriend picks up. “Hi honey, what’s up?” He asks, all nonchalance.

“Oh God you’re alive,” I blurt out, relief washing over me. My teeth unclench, my hands stop shaking.

“Of course I’m alive! I didn’t have my phone on me. Is everything OK at home?”

“Yes,” I confirm, “everything’s OK.”

“Did you think I was dead?” I hear the smile in his voice.

“Maybe.” I laugh, then add sheepishly, “I hadn’t heard from you in hours.”

“Oh Val,” my boyfriend chuckles. “I’ll be home soon.”

Death is the only explanation

For as long as I can remember, I’ve had this strange affliction. Whenever I don’t hear from someone dear to me for too long, I think they’re dead.

I first became aware of this when I was a university student in London, living with my then-boyfriend. At the time, I was clinically depressed and typically spent my days watching BBC iPlayer in bed, rising only to stuff my face with digestives.

I didn’t feel much of anything. Nothing could rouse me from my stupor. Until one day I sent my boyfriend an innocuous text and didn’t get a reply. Five, ten, then fifteen minutes went by.

At first, I didn’t think anything of it. Then, at the half-hour mark, the thought crept in unbidden: what if he’s dead? That’s when the frantic calls and deluge of “let me know when you get this!” messages began. I got up from bed, went to the kitchen, and let my worst imaginations take hold.

What if he got into an accident on his way to work? Did he get hit by a car? Maybe he had a stroke? Is he dying in an emergency ward somewhere? Oh God.

Each hour that went by without a response saw me spiral into ever-deepening states of distress. It wasn’t like anything I’d experienced.

In the midst of it all, I realised: I have a problem.

Living with death

I’m alive! My phone pings with a message from my partner who’s out for his boxing training. Staying a while longer to work out, the message continues. I smile and reply: I didn’t think you’re dead… yet. But thank you for letting me know.

A decade has gone by after that incident in London, and I’ve had plenty of practice living with my condition. I still worry when I don’t hear from someone for too long, but I no longer work myself into a frenzy. I’ll send a message to check in, but then I’ll put my phone away and get on with my day.

What I define as “too long” has also changed. I start worrying after hours, not minutes. How many hours exactly depends on the person I’m waiting to hear from. If it’s someone who usually replies quickly, I might start worrying after a few hours. If it’s someone who doesn’t check their phone often, like my partner, half a day could go by before I start thinking he’s dead.

The reason I no longer spiral out of control is the simple realisation that if the person I’m worried about really is dead or dying, then nothing I can do will bring them back. If me not hearing from my partner for five hours means he’s dead, then no amount of calls or messages will resuscitate him. If I don’t hear from my parents in Thailand for a day, they may both be dead, or maybe they’re just busy. There’s nothing I can do from Vietnam in any case, so best to just wait it out—someone will let me know what’s going on… eventually.

With this realisation that there’s nothing I can do, my condition is no longer a recurring stressor. It’s instead become a source of amusement for my partner and me. I’m not dead! he’d message after being offline for longer than usual. And I’d laugh and thank him for his tongue-in-cheek reassurance.

One of these days, with the help of a therapist, I’ll dive into what’s responsible for this quirk of mine and put it to bed once and for all. But until then, you know what I’ll be thinking if I don’t hear from you for too long.

What do you think?

Until today, my partner was the only person who knew of my propensity to explain silence with death. Now that my secret’s out, I wonder:

Do you share my affliction?

If you don’t hear from your parent/partner/friend/neighbour/pet for too long, is your first thought that they’re dead? Am I unique in my weirdness, or are you similarly afflicted? Please hit “reply” or leave a comment—I read every response and I’d love to hear from you. If you want, share this with someone who always remembers to check in on you.

Until next Friday… Stay thoughtful,

Val

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Photo by Anton Darius on Unsplash