The Mailbox Horror

I haven't visited my mailbox in over a month.

I live in a condo, so the mailbox is conveniently located a little walk away from my unit. It's a detour from the beeline I make from my car to the front door when I get home from work. Easily postponed, because it will take me two minutes when I finally do it. I'll do it tomorrow. And tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow...

I don't just avoid the mailbox, I avoid thinking about the mailbox. I avoid thinking about it for weeks at a time. Eventually, the knowledge that it must be approaching capacity and that the post office will eventually stop delivering my mail if there's no room for it (it's a pretty small space) begins to create anxiety. I begin to be aware, in the back of my mind, of the bills I am missing, the notifications I'm not aware of, the Things That Must Be Attended To.

You'd think that around this time I would go and Attend To The Things, thus relieving my mind about any catastrophes that are not in fact waiting in the mailbox like undetonated explosives and resolving any catastrophes that are actually brewing, putting an end to my anxiety. But I don't. Instead, the anxiety perpetuates further avoidance. Now, rather than a blissful ignorance, it's a kind of sick, sinking feeling that creeps up on me whenever my eyes fall upon the small gold mailbox key.

However, despite the eventual rise of anxiety regarding the Unknown, the landmines and late notices endemic to adult life, my mailbox avoidance usually begins with fear of the Known. Incoming traffic court summons, loan documents, and utility bills have all sent me into Mailbox Avoidance. The knowledge that the unpleasant mail is on its way and the uncertainty of when it will arrive conspire to throw me into an unendurable state of hypervigilance, which I mitigate by putting it out of my mind. This intentional forgetfulness then becomes habitual, until the length of time since my last Mailbox Encounter begins to suggest the anxiety of the unknown, which then must be avoided as well.

It's a completely neurotic and dysfunctional cycle. I know this, I know that I could break it, and yet I do it again and again. My recognition of this cycle adds a new ingredient to this mix: shame. In the shame cycle, I blame myself for failing to be a functional and responsible adult, while continuing to avoid the Mailbox itself, which has now become an emblem not just of the fearful Known and Unknown but also evidence of my own inability to confront it. At this stage, the Mailbox begins to acquire the dimensions of some minor Lovecraftian horror, all shadowy tentacles and non-Euclidean geometry.

Right now my Mailbox Avoidance derives from the packet from the California Bar I know is waiting there for me. It's the Known with a side of extra shame, just the confirmation of what I've already seen (or rather, not seen) on the pass list. The hard evidence of my failure.

I've been telling myself, "It's hard enough for me to feel good about myself right now. I have too much on my plate already. I don't need to deal with that today." Meanwhile, the Dreadful Unknown accumulates behind this dam of the Antediluvian Known like a herd of shoggoths, a pressure that ratchets up just a little bit every day.

Eventually that pressure will overcome my avoidance, and I will visit the Mailbox. I will confront the past month's demons, known and unknown. Then the cycle will eventually start over. Or maybe it won't. Maybe I'll get brave and start confronting the Mailbox Demons in small numbers, once per business day, rather than in an invading horde once every six weeks.

But not today.