fear makes you crazy

i fuckin' hate it here and i want out

DAY 1167:

The Cubies’ ABC (1913)

i grossly over-estimated my ability to make friends.

i’m not someone who has struggled with making friends throughout my life. sure, i’ve experienced fall-outs and tension and break ups and growing apart. i’ve felt social anxiety and awkwardness, i’ve pissed friends off and i’ve been pissed off at friends. most important of all: i survived middle school bullying and shunning, but made it my mission to grow out of any relationship that felt like that.

but the ability to make a friend— if ONLY one— has been simple throughout my life.

when i was gearing up to move to Minnesota, i wasn’t worried. i thought, more than anything, that the recovery community would be open and welcoming, that i would make friends easily. i thought i was going to be fine.

but boy, oh boy: i was wrong.

after nine long months, we are finally leaving Saint Cloud. at the start of our Minnesota journey, it felt good to withhold our exact location— privacy, turns out, feels good. safe.

however, the big reveal: since July, we have been living in Saint Cloud, Minnesota, which is in the reddest county in the state. and i can’t say that i’ve loved it.

LET ME BE CLEAR: I really love Minnesota. Minnesota is beautiful, there is so much to admire. when we moved here last summer, there was constant road construction happening because the infrastructure work is done before the freeze— there is work happening at all times, from the roads to the teenagers who bag your groceries at every grocery store. there is no shortage of work. when we touched down in the twin cities, we marveled at the parks, the bike and running paths, the way in which people seemed to always be outside. we’ve had the privilege of going up north, and i absolutely fell in love with the beautiful landscape, the celebration of Scandanavian heritage— the smoked fish and saunas. and of course, cheese curds. there is so much to marvel at and admire.

but in my experience, it has felt rare to feel welcomed in Stearns County. and more times than not, i have encountered a thousand forms of fear.

let me explain.

what has been palpable from the start is how unpracticed people are at welcoming outsiders. this, of course, came in conjunction with this past election. i couldn’t help but notice the Tr*mp banners and flags and signs as we got closer to this town. it is common to see restaurants with Tr*mp banners that block out whole windows.

in august, i was in the grocery store checkout line, a man dressed in Orange Neon in front of me. the teenager running the checkout counter said, cheerily, "That's a solid $150."

the man retorted, "You're saying that like it's a good thing."

she started to backpedal, "I was just saying it was a round number, you know. Sometimes it's cents or something? Just a solid number."

he cleared his throat: "Ten years ago it would have been $100, and that's why I'm voting for Trump."

he turned towards me. i watched his body recoil, anticipating my reaction. his hands, flying up to protect his face. but i was listening to a True Crime podcast and i laughed in that way that has allowed me to survive difficult interactions with men at the bar, in the bedroom, and now, the grocery store.

more than anything: i had resolved to not take the bait, to not react to anyone. my recovery asks me to assess what is and what is not in my control, and this strange man in line at the grocery store very much was not.

could i change his mind? i thought no.

he stood up straight and said, "I didn't know if you were going to punch me or give me a round of applause!"

i laughed again, praying it would end, fear prickling my guts as i tried to move it along. he left with his groceries, but the checkout girl was still vibrating from the confrontation. i did my best to be jovial with her, to spray her in kindness and gratitude, to make her day with the same energy with which he intended to ruin ours.

from the start: it just feels like everyone is trying to fight.

The Cubies’ ABC (1913)

i can’t say that i have loved it here, but i can’t say that it has been fruitless: i was forced to sit down and write. i am leaving behind a deep period of isolation, but i do have new literary representation, a draft of a book proposal, and two newsletters that i write consistently. i’ve taught workshops and i started a youtube channel (two videos, better than none). i truly had nothing else to do but work, and for that i am grateful.

but i’m finally saying: being dropped into a red town in the middle of a midwestern state has been really, really hard.

so many people like to dream of doing just that for the tax breaks or the low cost of living. usually, in my life, it’s the people who do not need to move out of economic necessity. and i can’t help but say: you have no idea what you are fucking saying.

there is political variance in my family. i am not aligned with most of them, but i want a relationship with my family more than i need to be right. i have a lot of practice at playing dead and biting my tongue. that doesn’t mean i don’t wish them to think differently, but i am not delusional about my power to change someone else’s mind.

believe me, i have tried. and when i tried, the rage turned fueled my drug addiction. i can’t stay sober and try to change everyone’s minds.

if i’ve learned anything, people are capable of change, but they have to want it for themselves. we all have to hit rock bottom before we can get sober. it’s an inside job, and i am over here working on mine.

as it stands today, my two closest friends in this town are preteens. they knocked on my door the day before Halloween in inflatable dinosaur costumes, and they have been knocking on my door ever since. with each visit, they entered my apartment more and more. i often run into them as they run around the apartment complex, trying to fill their time with things to do. since October, i strive for my home to be a soft, safe place for them. i always listen, offer them a baked treat, and give them a hug before they go. i have become Auntie Paulina.

in a period of supreme isolation, it has felt like a bright light: my pre-teen guardian angels.

but come January, there was a period when i didn’t see the girls. i got a text to meet them in a public room in our building, and it became clear why i hadn’t seen me: the 14 year old’s mom had forbidden them from seeing me

when her little sister walked by the room, they ducked, told me to hide, too.

and i couldn’t help but pause: Wait. I am an adult. This is not appropriate.

i came to realize my mistake: i should have gone to her mother and introduced myself. but every time i made that suggestion, the 14 year old insisted: please, don’t. my mom will be mad i told you where we live.

her mom, she told me, forbade them from seeing me because she was afraid i was going to kidnap her.

obviously, that is not my intention. but what became clear is that my complete isolation made me hungry for the friendship being offered, the role of Auntie to girls hungry for something to do after school or late at night. and that blinded me from moving through the motions as i normally would.

i am not their babysitter, i am a strange neighbor.

but i can’t help but notice this exact response: if i forbid you, you will be safe. and this was far from the last time i encountered this fear-based response in another.

for my paid subscribers: update on my recovery and how fear has factored in

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