Emotional Appeal (CM1145) #2

Well when I woke up this mornin',
There was a note upon my door,
Said don't make me no coffee Babe,
'cause I won't be back no more,
And that's all she wrote, Dear John,
I've sent your saddle home. - Hank Williams, Dear John


"I love you, good night."

Those are the last words she said to me. It's been three days. As I sit here in the dark on my couch, in my empty house, alone, I can not help but think, where did I go wrong? We were so happy, we spent every evening and every weekend together. As I sit here, with the little purple envelope on my lap, I reminisce on our happy time. I brought her out for supper every Saturday night, and to an activity of her choice on Friday night. We had couples game nights on Tuesdays, now I can't go, I can't go alone. I'm alone.


I woke up at 4am on Sunday night cold, there was no one by my side.

"Babe? Val? Valerie??"


I got out of bed and checked the bathroom, the door was open, that's when I noticed. The shower curtain was gone, and so were the mats off the floor, and pictures off the walls. Panic and worry filled my throat and the pit of my stomach. Had we been robbed? Has Valerie been kidnapped? How could I possibly sleep through something this big? (I am a very heavy sleeper.)


"Who's there! Valerie! Val, are you okay?!"


No response. I ran to my room and grabbed the receiver of my telephone. About to dial 911, I noticed the room was cleaner than it had been earlier that night. Not clean in an "I've been robbed, they took all my stuff" way, clean in a "something is completely wrong" way. The drawers of the dresser were torn open and emptied. A single pair of red panties left, half under the bed on the floor. Her favorite stuffed animal was missing off the shelf, the one I had won her at the carnival on our first date, ten years prior. Her engagement ring was left in the box on the table by my side of the bed, with a little purple envelope neatly tucked underneath. I slowly hung up the receiver and walked over the the little purple envelope and simply stared.


Here I am, sitting on my couch, in my dark empty house, notice I did not say home, because without her it is not a home. I am alone. The small purple envelope, addressed to myself from Valerie set in my lap, unopened. All her possessions have been taken, all our stuff is gone. She left me, I can't believe she would leave me, I love her so much. She is my life. I wonder if the envelope contains a phone number, or an address. I need to contact her, I need to know why she left. I'm twenty-eight, she's twenty-six, we've been together for ten years. We love each other. I sigh and turn the little purple envelope around, and I prepare myself to open it. I haven't slept, and I am not prepared to read what is written in deep purple ink across the pages, yellowed with age.


"I love you sweetheart. Don't you ever forget how heavy my heart is for you, no matter how bad it gets. I didn't want to leave you, you told me you would understand, and that you would love me forever. I know you are reading this letter, written in my favorite purple pen, wondering what the hell I am trying to tell you. I know you don't remember."


I don't understand, what does she mean I told her I would understand? Of course I don't remember? Was I drunk?!


"As I sit here on my deathbed writing this, I hope you will forgive me for leaving. I love you with all my heart sweety, forgive me."


Deathbed. . . and I passed out.


I was thrown out of my deep sleep at the sudden "bang bang bang" of the door. The small purple envelope on the floor by my feet, the purple inked letter laying in front of my face. I slowly got to my feet, wondering why I had slept on the floor last night. Why didn't Valerie wake me up? Was I drinking? My head is awfully sore. I inch my way towards the door.


"Good morning Dad, rough night, huh?"


Who was this stranger at my door calling me Dad? The only son I know of having is six years old, asleep in his bed upstairs. I'm only 34, it's impossible for me to have a son his age, he has to be in his fifties.


"I'm sorry Sir, I don't understand why you are calling me "Dad" you have to be at least twenty-years older then me."


"Dad, it's time to go, they say you ran away again. I figured you came here."


"Sir, I have no idea what you are talking about! I am not your father, my son Jacob is upstairs asleep, he's only six years old!"


At that I slammed the door, locked it, and stormed back into my living room. Now back to the real question of the morning, what is this small purple envelope I woke up to this morning?


I picked up the envelope, completely ignoring the letter, written in dark purple ink. I looked inside, and saw some photographs. There is what seems to be a family portrait, a small boy, about six-he looks just like Jacob, maybe it was me as a child. I then look up at the parents in the Polaroid photograph.


The door opens and I look up at the man standing on my doorstep.


"You have your mother's eyes Jacob. Bring me back to the home."

Logical Arguments (CM1145) #1

"The only thing we have to fear is fear is fear itself."


Although the assignment was to discuss rather or not the statement is hard evidence or rational appeal, I am going to talk about what I believe this statement really means.


You never know how one particular situation is going to end, or how it will play through, until you attempt said particular situation. There are many different types of fear. Some people fear heights, tests, or ghosts. I fear facing my problems. I always think of the worst possible thing that can happen and I begin to fear facing this problem. For example, I had a hair appointment at 10:00 am with a new hair stylist whom I had never even seen before. As I sat in the waiting room, patiently watching the time pass, 9:45am to 10:10am, I began to worry that maybe the hairdresser hadn't written my name down, or had left without me knowing she had walked passed me. Many workers entered the waiting room calling in people one at a time, 10:25 am "Caroline come with me please", 10:35am, "Joanne it's your turn". Eventually it turned 10:40am, I am silently panicking in my mind, a sweat forming on my brow. I realized at the time I was worrying about nothing, perhaps the stylist was busy or didn't realize her previous appointment would take so long. At 10:55am I was called into my hair appointment, I had been panicking for absolutely no reason. All the panic could have been easily avoided if I faced my fear, ask someone why it was taking so long. A simple explanation would have seized any thought of something not being right.


In my life I've experienced many episodes, as the one above, over very silly reasons, simply because I cannot face my fear. My fear it to talk to any particular person about serious situations. (Although like the one above they were not all serious, but in my mind they can sometimes lead to panic attacks which are serious to me because they embarrass me, and embarrassment is another fear of mine.)


I feel like I have one of the silliest fears in the world, but then I think about people who are afraid of cotton balls and pickles. "The only thing we have to fear is fear itself" can be rationalized and proven with hard evidence in so many cases, such as people who are afraid of cotton balls. What is to fear? It is a little white piece of material, which people use to clean their makeup, or glasses. Most of your clothes is comprised of cotton, are you also afraid of your t-shirt? There have been articles of such people with very serious phobias of very simple things which are the farthest from harmful as you can possibly think. 


I've faced my fears in the past. For my entire life I was deathly shy, it took every ounce of courage in my body to talk to somebody new. Public speaking terrified me. Every year I dreaded the moment a teacher would announce public speaking week. When it came time my throat would close tight and I would force myself to hold back tears. What if they laugh at me? What if they talk about how stupid my speech was behind my back? In grade 12 I decided enough was enough. I wrote a speech, I read it in front of class. Although my body vigorously shook, and my eyes were dry from holding back tears and facing the stress, when the teacher approached me and announced I'd been one of the two students picked to attend speech night that year, I proudly accepted the offer. Any other year I would have turned it down before the proposal was offered. Every day leading up to speech night I would wake up thinking about public speaking, and fall asleep thinking about public speaking, I literally ate, slept and lived public speaking. I ended up reciting my speech twice more in front of the class. When the night finally arrived I wore my poker face and announced I was ready. Inside I was screaming, "WHY DID YOU DO THIS TO YOURSELF. YOU ARE NOT GOING TO SURVIVE THIS. IF YOU WIN YOU WILL RECITE IN FRONT OF OVER ONE HUNDRED PEOPLE. THAT'S HIGHER THAN ONE HUNDRED. YOU ARE CRAZY." I of course ignored this voice in my head. It was my fear speaking. I recited my speech in front of the families of the six other grade 12 contestants, and the three judges. I was second to recite. I never won of course, but I faced my fear. I received a certificate and $10 for participating, and I will always cherish that piece of paper saying I participated in speech night. It represents the beginning of a long road to recovery, recovering from a fear. If you did not know me before this year, and you are reading this story, you will probably laugh and tell me I am an excellent story teller, but this is 100% true. I've grown a lot since that day last February, and I am able to talk to people more readily. Of course sometimes when I speak I can feel my social awkwardness escaping through my words, and people laugh at me, but it is all a part of the growing process. I faced my fear, and every day I am facing the same fear. I hope one day I will no longer be afraid, because I am not afraid of publicly facing my problems, public speaking, or talking to new people. I am afraid of the feeling that fills my body when I do these things, and I need to teach my body that the feeling is normal, and it will not change the situation, making it any better or any worse. You can not control what people think or say, which is one of the dependents to what the final ending of the situation you put yourself in will be.