You’re locked in a room with your greatest fear. Describe what’s in the room.
I’m an introvert and a loner by nature. That’s why it’s so strange that my greatest fear in this great big room is aloneness.
I really don’t mind being alone. I can find lots of things to do while I’m alone. I have lots of hobbies. I volunteer my time with organizations, and then I’m not alone. I visit my granddaughters and take them to the movies and to breakfast and to lunch and I’m not alone. That’s not the aloneness I’m talking about.
The aloneness I fear is the aloneness of when I’m older, when the granddaughters are gone and off on their own. When I am no longer able to get out and do my volunteer work. When I’m confined to my apartment or nursing home or wherever it is that I’ll end up. I fear that aloneness. I don’t think my daughter will come to visit very often. She’ll be busy with her life, and quite frankly, I don’t think she likes me all that much, so she will use any excuse to not come to visit me. My family, my brother and sister, are in New York and I am here in Texas and they cannot visit. I will be pretty much on my own with a group of strangers for company. I will be, for all intents and purposes, alone. That is the aloneness I fear. If I’m in my apartment, I will feel rather isolated except for perhaps for the volunteer who brings meals. I will long for human contact, especially contact with my daughter, who will not want to give me contact. I will be alone with my aloneness.
That’s what I fear in the dark room. The darkness of aloneness. The coldness of the lack of human warm of a hug and a kiss. Alone. Cold. Dark. Alone.