Red Mad Roads of Fear

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My anguish is terrible to remember. I bought an alarm system at Radio Shack and took all one night installing it at our cabin. I bought a Benelli Riot Gun and began patrolling the house, sometimes sitting for hours outside my son's bedroom, rushing upstairs from time to time to be sure my wife was still okay, suffering horrendous fear that I could not explain.

I thought that I might end up in an insane asylum, and that my wife would be unable to divorce me if I was declared incompetent. So I fought with her, I screamed at her, I tried and tried to get her to divorce me.

At the same time, I kept having horrific terror visions of the end of the world. I felt watched, I heard things creeping about in the house, I woke up in the morning feeling greasy and filthy and bathed and bathed but still felt dirty. Sometimes, in the late night, I would find myself lying on the living room floor naked, or the bedroom floor, with my stomach twisted in knots and my mind racing down red mad roads of fear. I would go in the bathroom and vomit white froth, then double over in the tub in agony.

And nobody else was bothered. In fact, Anne and Andrew were fine. No problems, except with me.