What is Freedom? Part 2
It’s fine. I’m not sure if I understand the question anymore as every freedom we hold dear is facing hard time and forcing us to repeatedly adapt in an ever-(d)evolving world…we are bound to feel (in)different about it. Accordingly, we are entitled to those feelings and share them on whatever platform we choose, often based on self-prescribed definitions—at least, those who live privileged enough lives to pronounce those feelings openly. What am I even yammering on about, anyways? I’m fine.
Since we last caught up, I’ve survived COVID, shingles, surgery, multiple moves, job changes, sunsetted friendships, and AI (for now). Time after time, I’m left feeling more constrained. Everything I set out to accomplish through this journey seems locked away when considering the newly branded freedom of the future. The more I try, the more resistance I face. At this point, one question remains: what’s the f*cking point?
After a decade+ of doing hard time at non-profits, the outlook on the outside is bleak. Pressure is building. Compassion is waning. As if this wasn’t enough, a stinging message calls out from the great unknown—the one meant to watch over and protect us: You will be eaten alive till your dying day.
I’m cursed. There’s no question about it. Not in the werewolf sense (though misplaced hair continues creeping across my body); rather, because I turned against God early on. Now, I’m being hunted down. Retribution for selling my soul. Is the Devil ready to put me down to the pits of hell for good? It may seem too late in 2025 for a spooky story, but a retelling of events seems like the only way to clear my name and set myself free from this ongoing nightmare.
Encounter 1: (Not) Alone in the Canyon
It was the pinnacle of my journey out west in 2017. Through many stops between here, there, and back again, overnight stays remained tethered to my car. It being my first ever camping trip, I didn’t wander too far from resources or potential escape in case I was confronted by something/one dangerous. Logical, yeah?
When I arrived at the Grand Canyon, it was near closing season on the north rim for the winter, so many areas that were well populated during the summer months were empty. No problem. I hadn’t spoken to anyone for over 20 days by that point, save for a few calls home to check in. No in-person interactions outside of stopping by a mechanic to get a tire fixed.
This leg of the trip started with a rocky drive to the scenic Marble Rim. After setting up in an isolated area, I settled into the stillness that had become my norm, embracing the panoramic view as the sun set. Though the day retreated away calmly, the night sliced through like a knife, forcing me to insulate the thin walls of my tent. The next morning, I set out along a trail that extended thousands of feet below my original camping spot, where I thought the wind couldn’t cut me down.
What an (third) eye-opening experience! I spent 7 days, 6 nights with no human contact. Throughout that time I journaled, fasted, and explored my surroundings. However, I never could have anticipated what happened while resting one afternoon in my tent.
As I lay there, pondering whatever abstraction caught my attention that day, I heard a noise. I mean, I heard a lot of noises, I was deep in a forested area of the North Kaibab Trail. Separated from society. And the safety of my car.
This wasn’t like any noise I heard before, so my ears tracked the movement through the forest. It wasn’t just the nearby stream or the wind flowing through the canyon. This was a breathing entity. Was it (gulp) human?
Identifying what is making that sound would seem the first priority. Not in this moment, though. The more pressing question hit hard in my empty gut: is it getting closer???
Yes. The erratic breathing grew louder and increasingly pronounced. It enveloped every other sound that stirred. With the key question answered, I prioritized my follow up…WHAT IS IT!?!?
Well, I never found out. Whatever it was, it was not human. But also not a common animal. It entered the area where the tent was set up, with the outer screen wide open, of course. I froze, with my head turned the opposite way, without visibility of what was lurking.
Thinking back…I don’t remember hearing footsteps. It sends chills down my spine considering the paralyzing fear of hearing the breathing close in on the tent’s inner screen and pause, clearly taking me in. I wanted to spin and look so bad but knew coming face to face with whatever was staring at me would be cause for disaster. Even that close, I can’t tell you what in the hell it was, with the gasps for air bringing back memories of zombie movies, before a human turns into a flesh eating monster. I also didn’t hear that typical sniffing sound you might hear with an animal assessing any threats. It’s waiting for me to react…
There we stayed, for what seemed like an eternity, till it moved away from my tent and retreated from the area into another direction. Amazingly/stupidly, I stayed another 2 nights camping there then made my way back up, up and away to where the car idly sat. The full journey down and out, with this wild encounter in between, had me reeling, but I wouldn’t have long to reflect. That night, when I tried getting comfortable in my car to sleep, I discovered mice had moved in and helped themselves to my food supply. Rather than unlock the truth of those unresolved moments in the canyon, my mind was arrested by the chirps of my new travelmates accusing me of trespassing.
Encounter 2: New Screen, Same Look
Years went by before I thought of that haunting sound again. There was a global pandemic, afterall, and no time to consider such an outlandish reality where the unknown loomed without attack. Survival Mode set in through lockdown, kept away from the sanity I once held dear.
Through 2020, I was slowly reacquainted with loved ones in person, able to connect again in ways that had felt long forgotten and on the verge of collapse. This led me to join a friend and her partner on a trip to her family’s farm, hoping to rebuild relationships frayed by the weight of our COVID fears.
From the start, I was the odd one out with two other humans coupled up and their dogs just as desperately in love. Each pairing had its problems, but I figured I’d be more bridge than blockade in a shared space, so I didn’t question the imbalance.
Shortly after we arrived, we set up intricate fencing in the backyard to keep the enamored pups from wandering further into rural Indiana during their nightly business. That was our first mistake. By the narrowest of margins, one dog slipped into the nothingness, sending us scrambling in hopes of retrieving what had been lost.
I’m not sure if it was my CRV’s high-beam headlights that did the trick, but he returned back to us shortly after scampering away, giving us a sobering sigh of relief. I turned my car off and went inside the house, placing the keys in a place I would remember in case another problem arose during our trip: on the windowsill near the bed.
We stayed up briefly, recalling the panic that ensued after believing all was secure, then turned in for the night with my human and canine companions sticking together on the level below me while I stayed on the main floor, solo.
As I laid in bed, contemplating the earlier drama of the great dog escape, I settled into the silence breezing through the open window across from me. The house sat on a slope, so the window perpendicular to the bed was a level higher, while the windows parallel to it were at eye level. As the rustling from downstairs came to a rest, a familiar sound made itself present through the screen. Was that something breathing?
Like in the tent, my ears tracked the noise and tried to process what I was hearing as it seemed to grow louder and closer, soon reaching the far side of the house. Then, a light burst through from the kitchen; my friend emerged from the basement for a glass of water. The erratic breathing stopped, momentarily, but soon after she retreated downstairs, flipping the light off, I heard it again, now making its way to the front of the house.
Again, I found myself on the wrong side of reality as my body faced the hallway and not the row of windows where the breathing intensified. It was watching me, again, and though I felt protected in a house compared to the tent in which I previously experienced this presence, I was powerless to the energy it exerted over me. I was alone. Scared. No one nearby to diffuse my consternation. So I went to sleep, hoping it would go away.
The next morning, I gathered in the kitchen with my travel mates without me retelling what I heard the night before. Relaxing into our first morning, my friend’s partner went downstairs to feed the dogs breakfast, then all hell broke lose. The boys began fighting over their respective dishes of food, and (second mistake) my friend’s partner attempted to get into the middle only to get his arm chomped.
We rushed downstairs to see the carnage, and as my friend jumped into action as a former lifeguard, I bumbled to figure out what to do next. It started with meager medical supplies from upstairs, not able to stop the bleeding, then led to me not being able to find the keys to the car.
I turned the bedroom upside down. Not in any bag I brought or pocket I packed. Not in any drawer or closet. And NO where to be seen on any window sill, where I remembered setting them the night before. Sitting below where I heard the breathing…
Panic was at a new high as I searched every space in the house and my friend’s partner dripped blood. After an extended time of my frantic search, they headed to the (faraway) neighbor’s house who allowed them use of his truck to get to a local hospital (30 minutes away) for stitches.
Meanwhile, I looked high and low, inside and outside, for any clue as to where my keys could have disappeared. This led me to a high-tail race outside into the brush of the woods, calling out to any entity that wanted to f*ck with me, to go ahead because I was ready to take on the fight. Very Jennifer Love Hewitt, I Know What You Did Last Summer.
My human companions returned, his arm wrapped but on its way to healing. As I sat at the kitchen table, taking in the day’s events, I noticed something dangling in my peripheral. There, in a nonsensical space tacked above the calendar, sat my keys.
How/why they ended up there remains a mystery to me and my friends, especially since alcohol or drugs aren’t an excuse. We were all at a loss of words, and with no rational explanation, failed to explore what happened that night any further, even after I shared my experience through the screen.
Encounter 3: The Bugs Are Coming From Inside the Blouse
Freedom comes with peace of mind. When we can open up and be ourselves in spaces and places that we don’t feel threatened by what might come next. What happens when we are cursed, though? Can we ever experience freedom if we fear retribution?
Reader Discretion Advised: If Encounters 1 and 2 weren’t reason enough to emphatically respond NO! to these questions, Encounter 3 will expose how karma is a ferocious force ready to eat away at us till we are nothing.
SO! 2025 was rough. I don’t believe there is a way to work through this insanity that makes me feel any independence from my intense frustration and grief. WTF!?! My professional life with donors, bleeding into my personal space and how I evaluate relationships, has made for a giant mess in this world of rampant corruption and blatant selfishness. WHERE’S THE FREEDOM!?
Hovering on the brink, I was visited again by a presence, however it wasn’t the erratic breathing from before. This time, I didn’t hear any approach. I slept through it, without realizing contact had been made. Night after night this continued, with signs of each encounter starting to show across my body. Confused by what I was seeing (and scratching), I began investigating to find the intruder. Turning up no evidence, I tried to ignore it, denying that anything was reaching me.
Then, it happened. While friends were in town visiting, my stalker revealed itself. I was making breakfast when one of them noticed something. On the couch where he sat, a tiny mite was scurrying away, slowed by a belly full of blood. Yes, it had just fed on a new unsuspecting victim and was headed back to let its growing family know: blood meal is served.
Like I said, I’m cursed. I spent the next month purging anything I thought might be bed bugged. Everything else was packed away into bags, including my mattress and box spring. Every time I thought I was safe, I would find another bite or spot a single feeder, resulting in me taking more drastic measures to eradicate the pests. Inspections from multiple extermination companies suggested that there was no infestation or need for professional treatment. Still, I can’t help but toss and turn at night, each itch a reminder of the bites before, forcing me to flip on all the lights to search for any sign of life. Nothing. Always nothing. It doesn’t matter though, that presence is permanently breathing down my neck now.
I wish Part 2 wrapped with a bow and arrived at a happy ending...But I’m left even more confounded trying to set myself up for success. Lots of forward thinking falling apart. Is there any freedom from this nightmare?