One Single Thread

I want to tell you something. No, I need to tell you something. Something I’ve never told another living soul. But I need to tell someone, and you’re my closest friend. We’ve known each other for over fifty years, so you’re welcome to judge me, or laugh at me, or worry about my mental health. None of that matters compared to this compulsion I feel to get my secret off my chest.

There’s another world in my basement. You know the wine cellar that’s carved into the bedrock under my family home? There. I don’t know how, or why. I have far more questions than answers. Is it a pocket universe? Or a portal to another planet? I don’t know what it is. All I know is that only I can see it. Only I can enter it. And it calls to me, constantly.

I’ve lived in this big old rambling Queenslander my entire life. I grew up here, fell in love, married, buried my elderly parents, and raised my children all in this house. Why? Because I can’t leave Earth 2. That’s what I’ve called this other place in my head, since before I could form coherent thoughts. Earth 2. I couldn’t possibly live anywhere other than this house. I feel at peace during my visits to Earth 2.

You know I’ve had anxiety for most of my life. I’ve learned, over the decades, to implement coping mechanisms which make life easier. But nothing soothes me like a stroll on Earth 2. The wild nature, untouched by man. The air, free from pollution. There are no radio waves, no electronic buzz. And the vista. I wish you could see it. There’s a nebula visible in the sky that would make you weep.

I suspect I’m not the first member of my family to walk on Earth 2. Somebody else has felt the pull of Earth 2 before me. There’s a mannequin in the basement wearing a leather and metal harness, which is anchored to a metal loop in the floor via a long chain. The harness has a lock and key, and the metal ring on the floor is right in front of the entrance to Earth 2. So I always followed the cues of my forebears and donned the harness, leaving the key on Earth while I wander the surreal beauty of Earth 2, safely chained to my home on Earth by this one single thread.

Why do I do this? The answer is simple. Anxiety. On Earth, I feel like a marionette dancing to the whims of anxiety, constantly jiggled by the strings of perceived threats, both real and imagined, that control my reality. My mental distress never goes away… it just backs off for short periods to allow me to breathe. But those strings are severed the moment I set foot on Earth 2. I’m no longer a puppet. I can breathe.

I’ve brought each kid down into the basement several times over the years, discreetly placing them in front of the entrance to Earth 2 to check if they can see the doorway. There may be a genetic factor to this mystery, and I don’t know how you’d broach the topic. “Oh hey, I loved your father. By the way, do you ever see another planet in your wine cellar?” I don’t know. Just picture me shrugging at this point.

If you’re reading this, and reading the tone correctly, you’re probably starting to worry. And rightfully so. The day will come where you need to share this email with my family. They will need answers. I love my family, and I absolutely adore Emily. We’ve had a good life together, quite charmed really… aside from my struggles with mental health. But I feel like my job is done. The kids have grown up and moved away. We’ve given them a good solid foundation for managing their own levels of anxiety. They’re successful in love and finances. Emily is secure and enjoying her retirement. There’s nothing left for me to do.

So today, I don’t don the harness. I’m on Earth 2, hovering near the entrance for scraps of Wi-Fi to finish writing this email. And I can hear Emily coming downstairs, calling my name. She enters the wine cellar and just stands there for a moment, looking confused. She’s just returned from a champagne brunch with her gal pals, and she’s slightly flushed. My God, she’s beautiful. My heart aches for her. I don’t want to cause her grief, but I can no longer resist the siren call of Earth 2.

Just a couple of steps is all it would take. Appear in front of her. Tell her how Earth 2 lets me breathe in a way I never could on Earth. Maybe she’d be happy for me. Maybe she’d let me go with her blessing. Maybe we could arrange a schedule for brief return visits. But I can’t do it. It needs to be a clean break.

I watch her until she leaves. She subconsciously fingers the necklace pendant I gave her for our thirtieth wedding anniversary, then slowly climbs the stairs. She casts one last parting look over her shoulder, the expression on her face completely unreadable… even for me.

The time has come. Don’t judge me, old friend. I’m going to take a deep breath and press SEND.