Tag Archives: fear

Let’s go to the fair

 

This one is a few years old, from back when I was young and bitter, heh. I’m glad I got older and am now very slightly less bitter. Ahh, it’s good to be breathing the fresh free air of being very slightly less bitter.

Yeah I’m in a weird mood today. Need blood. Anybody wanna loan me some blood? Need sleep. Anybody want to borrow my hyperactive-only-at-midnight kitty? He’s very large and noisy and destructive. All he asks is for constant attention and food and play from 11:30-1:30. If you can wear him out, then pin him down for ten minutes and withstand the battle damage, he’ll go right to sleep like an angel.

 


 

Let’s go to the fair
And have a nice time
Eat cotton candy
Make ourselves sick on deep fried foods
Spin until we can’t see straight
And win a giant stuffed animal
By popping balloons with darts

Yay, that was fun
I feel ill

It was worth it
To see you smile
You smile so rarely anymore
My sweet thing
It doesn’t take much
Or rather
It takes an entire fair
Organized and operated by hundreds of people
Sixty dollars for tickets, food, gas
And you need to get tossed around violently by machines.

But it’s a small price to pay
To see you smile
Dear god I’d do anything to see you smile
Fuck don’t leave me

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


 

 

 

The hangdog man

Quiet man
Bent shoulders
Apologetic, hangdog face
Tells his story

I don’t smile
Because my smile looks goofy
I don’t want to be cocky
Overbearing
I want above all
To be approachable
Humble
My most feared flaws are
Haughtiness
Arrogance
My dad, I thought he was perfect
But he wasn’t
He wasn’t perfect at all
I thought I was a screw up
Because I wasn’t like my dad
Now I don’t want to be like him
Arrogant
Haughty
I want to be kind, nonjudgmental
I want to be loving
I want to be gentle
I want to not
Hurt
Anyone
Ever again
I was arrogant once
I drank, I hurt people
I don’t want to hurt anyone ever again
So I shrank
And shrank
Until nobody

could

 

see

 

 

me

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


 

 

 

Journal – The Girl with no Fear

 

Here’s a funny thing about myself. I always have majorly overblown confidence about a thing until I’m halfway into it.

“I’m not afraid of people. I love talking to people! I can face down a crowd.” Then I blithely stand up to tell a story about a coworker at a small friendly retirement party. I am shocked when, halfway through, my hands are shaking hard. I have to breathe and calm down but my punchline falters a bit. Am I afraid of public speaking? Looking back to when I did theatre in college, it was the same: one hundred percent confidence followed by shakes on stage.

“I like rock climbing! I like nature! I’m gonna sign up for this little class and learn the knots and then I can hang (get it?) with my rock-climbing big brother and sister.” I take the class, start climbing the first little practice tower, and hit critical mass. I am shaking so hard I don’t trust myself to climb any higher. My hands have locked down on the rock climbing nubbins. “I forgot I’m afraid of heights!” I call back to my bemused classmates from a whopping ten feet high.

I got to meet a new friend on videochat recently. No fear there. Slept like a baby. Excited, happy puppy enthusiasm. “Yay, a new person to love!!” We talked, and she was awesome, and the conversation was easy, and everything was fine as long as I didn’t get distracted by my own reflected strangerface and lose track of the conversation.

After I hung up, I started making some oatmeal. As I stirred the pot I thought, “Where is that quiet screaming coming from? It’s getting louder. Oh, right! My own head.” After some puzzling I figured out that it was latent anxious adrenaline rush from meeting her. DID SHE LIKE ME WAS I STUPID DID I HURT HER FEELINGS???

 

Anyway, I thought it was just a funny character trait, but now that I’ve written it down, I see it’s my old friend Emotional Repression popping up. Hello again. Let’s never talk.

I have definitely gotten better, but digging my emotional core free is a slow, slow process. Sometimes Repression pops up and bites me in the ass, just like old times. It bites less than before, but it still bites.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


 

 

 

Defenders

 

Ba-thump.
His infant daughter gripped his fingertip with her whole hand. Linda was small, fragile, beautiful, everything in the world. All he wanted was to protect her.
Ba-thump.
Looking directly into Mary’s eyes for the first time. He’d never had the courage to talk to her until now. Her eyes were pthalo blue.
Ba-thump.
Speeding around the curves on his motorcycle, feeling the freedom, roaring wind in his ears drowning out all grief.
Ba-thump.
Standing before the congregation to deliver his final sermon. Odd that he would be nervous now, considering he’d stood here many times before with ease, even boredom.
Ba-thump.
Coming under the blankets just as his mom opened the door. Had she seen? She grabbed his laundry and left nonchalantly. No way to tell. She was a master of polite pretense.
Ba-thump.
Kissing Mary’s lips at their wedding.
Ba-thump.
Kissing Mary’s brow at her funeral.
Ba-thump.
The car rolling over him.
Ba-thump.
Cold.
Ba-thump.
He hadn’t bungee jumped yet. Linda had begged him until he promised she could go, but only if he came along to supervise. She was more brave than he’d ever been.
Ba-thump.
In utero, everywhere pulsing. The voices of his parents carried through to him, muddled by protective walls of warm flesh. “Let’s sing for him,” his father said. His mother laughed. Soon the comforting vibrations of familiar song thrummed into his core. He hadn’t understood what he’d heard at the time, but he recognized the hymn now.
His heart skipped a beat.
Instead of catching, his heart missed the next beat as well.
This pavement was cruel. He was frightened. It hurt. Something was very, very wrong with his body. It felt unbearably still, without a heartbeat.
Linda. He needed to stay here for Linda. He willed his heart into action one more time.
Ba…thum.
Vision flickering. As his consciousness mingled red with the motor oil and spread down the road, somebody took his hand. Maybe it was impossible, but it felt like his father’s grip.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


 

 

 

Journal – On fearing death

 

I am afraid to die.
I am afraid to live.
I love life but it is never enough.
If I had kids I could say, there, I did that, I made something good.
If I were a real writer I could shake the world up a little.
But I’m just normal
Trying to be happy.
Having achieved happy
I fall out of happiness
And must work my way back up again.
What if I get sick.
What if I only have twenty good years left.
What is the difference
If I only have fifty years
Or twenty years?
Either amount
Is nothing
Nothing
A wisp of dandelion
The heartbeat of a gnat.
We are born of an enormous universe
We are fleas
Specks
Motes
Less still than that.
Our time is tiny.
It is easy to forget.
Our time is a splinter of ice
That melts the moment it exists.
Time is my enemy.
Time is my friend.

I write in dichotomies.
I write about time.
To live in that moment before death
To never forget where you’re going
To never forget where you are.
Every second
Must
Be
Savored.
I read a story about a man
Going to his execution.
He tried to split every moment in half.
He hoped that by doing this
The last moment
Would never arrive.
Today I breathe
Again.
A victory.
Today I remembered
What yawns before me
Is an open grave.
How soon will it accept me?
How soon will I accept it?
And when I get to the edge
I want to look back and say,
Yes. I savored those moments.
I squeezed more out of life
Than anyone.
I never
Never
Took what I had for granted.
Everything was precious.
Everything was vivid.
Everything was loved.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


 

 

 

 

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