Fear. . .
I think that this is a good topic to discuss before I close this journal and move on to the next.
Fear.
I know that fear is an excellent motivator. Fear can make us run. Fear can make move or hide or, at some point, fear can drive us to the understanding that no matter what, I never want to be afraid again.
I never want to give in. I never want to be used or humiliated.
I never want to feel weak or that vulnerable again and I never want to be that susceptible to anyone or anything.
I want to be brave. And I want to be strong.
I want to be impenetrable, as in no one can hurt me, no one can expose me, or humiliate me, and no one can ever cut me down or berate me and degrade me to the point where I believe them.
Yes, fear is an excellent motivator.
Fear can be a good thing. Fear teaches us that danger is real and it is good to be aware.
It is good to pay attention.
We are supposed to.
It is good to know that not everything is as it seems and that, yes, we have to question and we might have to investigate, which is fine—but, we have to ask ourselves something first. I have this thought of this question for years now—and I have been asking myself because I admit that fear has caused me to change my directions; and fear has caused me to neglect or to follow through on some of my hopes and dreams; and I say this because in my fear that none of my dreams would ever come true—I failed to launch and failed to allow myself the right to reach or dream. However, the question I have asked myself is how many times will I allow my fear to get in the way?
How many times did I turn away when the course of opportunity showed itself to me?
How many times have I allowed my mental health to sour or diminish because I was too afraid to try or dare?
I think about the chances I took and the worthless moments when I risked everything for no reason. Yet, there were times when I was too scared to risk anything, when there was a reason and meanwhile, this was the only thing that was worthwhile to me.
“This!”
And I say “this” as a broad idea, of course, but to narrow this down or to add some clarity and as a means to share with full, total and complete transparency—I am not so brave.
I am not so strong. I am not so tough nor am I heroic or even fit to call myself the true definition of a man.
This is what happens when irrational fears get the best of me.
There are times when I could have had the world, and I could have had anything I wanted.
I could have had it all. Or maybe I did have it all.
There are times when I could have been happy, or I was happy, and I could have tried or dared and taken the risk, and I could have done anything but instead, I did nothing and allowed myself to submit and sink beneath the murky waters of fear and indecision.
I lost.
And yes.
I have lost more than I have gained in this regard.
I have allowed myself to turn inwards. I have allowed myself to starve and fail and wish for more. But no, the idea of “more” can only lead to more of the same because, in all fairness, nothing happens if nothing happens.
Nothing changes if nothing changes and if we want to have a say in our life or if we want to have a say in what happens, and while I agree; we can’t control outcomes and we cannot control people, places, and things—I know that a change takes work and not just faith.
I know this because there are times when I failed to move or respond and rather than have the dream, I allowed myself to sink beneath the grief of a life which was not dared, nor tried, nor risked or lived.
Fear—
What has fear done for me?
Has it kept me safe?
Or just distant?
Has fear empowered me?
Has fear become too irrational, or so irrational that I cannot move, or speak, or make a clear or concise decision?
Has my fear led me to create rifts between myself and people who love me?
Or should I say “loved” me, as in past tense or as in previously; and if I disclose this to you and choose to be honest and raw, should I be honest enough to expose how my fears are what magnified my shortcomings—or dare I say it, should I tell you about the lameness of my excuses?
Here it is, the truth.
My irrational fears are what motivated my need to seek comfort in unhealthy and unfortunate ways and yes, this is what caused me to run and hide.
My answer is yes.
I should tell you.
I should say that I am not anything other than human.
I am equally a person with wrongs, sins, secrets and, yes, even the so-called skeletons in my closet have skeletons of their own.
I admit to this.
I have done wrong. I have struck first to avoid the projected retaliation from others who I assumed would cause a fight that was never real or never existed.
I have done this.
Absolutely.
I want to change.
I want to reform.
I want to adapt and overcome.
I want to be more than who I was before and yes, I want to learn how to rise above my fears because my fears have done nothing more than hold me back.
Fear has done nothing but kept me from daring the world to experience, feel, live and love, as in for real.
I do not expect anyone to understand. I do not ask for forgiveness, however, in the face of my wrongs and in the shadows of an old illusion, and while exposing a previous version of myself, I want to defy my fears and defy my wrongful predictions.
I want now to be the time when I choose to feel better.
I want to step out from behind the drapes and curtains that I have hid behind.
I want to step outside of myself so that alas, I can feel the sun on my face without worrying about the shortness of life.
I want to live now instead of worrying about the shortness of time, or how time can lead from one moment to the next. Thus, I have to admit I used to be too afraid to laugh or smile because what happens when the smile goes away?
What do I do if I let go of the fears and the pain?
Then out of nowhere, they come back to haunt me again.
To hell with this.
To hell with my insecurity.
To hell with my misshaped ideas that lead me to worries about a misshapen chaos (as Shakespeare once said) and so no, I have no guarantee and, for the moment, I am unguarded and unprotected.
I am weak.
I am afraid.
I am a child.
I am a grown man and I am born from love.
But I have been decayed by my discomfort and hate.
I have been hurt from my assumptions of loveless fear.
I don’t want to hate anymore.
I don’t want to be afraid anymore.
I don’t want to be angry.
I don’t want to be anything that my list of insecurities tells me I am.
When is enough, enough?
When is it time to realize that fear can not be an excuse anymore?
When?
Now sounds like a good time.
I’ll tell you what, I promise to lay down my weapons of self-destruction and take off the mask and shield—and I will put my double-edged sword to the side and stand before you, exactly like this, humbled, weak, vulnerable as ever, and modest as the day I was born.
You don’t have to do the same.
You don’t have to acknowledge this either.
In fairness, and while I admit that I am not just doing this for myself, but for others and for you as well—in the end, there comes a time when we realize that hey, “I just can’t live like this anymore.”
To be fair—this is what has to happen.
Enough has to be enough for us to say that this is when we address the elephant in the room.
This is when we face our fears to keep them small so we can face our life and see our dreams, and with a little work, we can make them so.
Good morning, Friday.
It is August 23, 2024.
Thank you for showing up.
Stick around.
I’m hoping to pull off a trick
or maybe two.
The Written Addiction 