monophobia

Monophobia: an abnormally acute fear of being alone

It is estimated that nearly 11.7 percent of Americans suffer from monophobia. This is not true. It is also not true that I suffer from monophobia, though for a long time I convinced myself that I did. It is true that between 5.1 and 21.5 percent of Americans suffer from claustrophobia.

I am a sufferer of claustrophobia in the most elemental sense: being closed in--in the physical, physiological and psychological sense. When crossing bridges, my heart races at the idea of having no escape. All travelers are headed in the same direction, like cattle or sheep, from point A to point B across the water/cliff/street. When picking a career, my heart races at the idea of living the same life, waking each morning to the same job, for more than five years.

This fear is marginalized by the most poignant fear that I suffer from, a sort of reverse-monophobia that freezes my heart in the middle of those truly existential moments that happen in the shower or as one drifts to sleep: At some point, I will stop breathing. Who will I leave behind?

My roommate laughs at me when I say that I will not have children for fear that they will live through the Apocolypse. I find this common sense. I do not wish to inflict pain or possible suffering on anyone, born or yet-to-be. This idea extends to my own death... How many people do I want close to me at that point? How many am I willing to affect by my death? I suppose this is giving myself a lot of credit, assuming that they will be emotionally damaged by my absence. So then, is it more noble to wish that I die first and leave others to have happy, healthy lives--wish that I could absorb the pain and possible sickness for them? Or is it better that I outlive them and spare them the pain of living through loss?

When my overworked (and most likely, if I'm having this conversation with myself, under-rested) mind reaches this point, the claustrophobia sets in. I am trapped. Completely closed in by the emotional ties of our species that we believe no other animal is capable of. Maybe they have it easier, if that's true, if they have they ability to mate with multiple partners and move on after the death of a family member by forgetting or not even understanding that it happened. I am doomed to love and be damaged by the loss of it. The large "They" tells us that it is better this way.

I recently wrote an essay (again, giving myself credit by calling it an actual essay) about my addiction to this connection and the feeling of being needed by some[one]. I am torn by the death of each goldfish, each rust-filled avocado pit that fails to sprout. So I purchased a guinea pig, in the hopes that it will love me and need me and know that it will never have to miss me. If there is a fear-of-the-death-of-a-guinea-pig, I suppose I suffer from that, too. And I suppose it is better this way.