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 remember when there was a time when it was good to be wild.
Do you?
I remember a time when it was fine to risk everything and not care about what came next. And I swear, a World War could’ve taken place and I might not have noticed.
A storm could have passed, a hurricane, tornado, and even an earthquake, and all could have gone on simultaneously and I wouldn’t have noticed.
Are you ready for a little dose of honesty?
I am sending this out with hopes to open the lines of communication or, better yet, I am offering this as a means to humanize the fact that, yes, it’s okay to not be okay. Above all things, I want to normalize the fact that sometimes, we fall apart.
So, as a means to offer this in a more humble and vulnerable tone, please understand that I expose the following knowing that this puts me in a humble light. But this also makes me human.
And to err is human. And so is to freak out, or “lose your shit!” so they say.
It’s a normal thing.
This one will be quick. But, I can’t promise that this won’t be sappy.
So . . .
I suppose there is no way to soften the edges or keep the world from its trips and falls. And no, there is no way to avoid real life and no way to stop real life from happening.
We can plan ahead. We can make good decisions.
We can do our best, absolutely.
But, as a friend of mine used to tell me, “We are in the effort business. Not the result business.”
Nothing changes if nothing changes.
Right?
I know I go back to Newton when I think about how he said an item in motion remains in motion and an item at rest, remains at rest, unless altered by an outside source. While I know that I paraphrase, only slightly, I think about life and the way things are.
Are we an item? Perhaps.
Are we in motion or at rest?
I suppose this depends.
There is no point in denying the truth. There’s no reason to deny the inevitable and there is no reason to quit or surrender, at least not now.
I agree when you say life can be hard. I agree when I hear people say that life can be unfair.
And I agree when people shake their heads and maybe they spit or curse, and I understand the feelings that come with loss, or the loss you find when you work so hard for something to happen, but in the end, the outcome was not what we hoped for.
I assume that no matter what I say or regardless of what I might try to explain, or no matter how hard I try to express my feelings or to convey them to you in the simplest way possible, and regardless of how I might feel remorse or if I am sad or mournful, or if I am regretful, or if I am thankful, if I am happy and overjoyed or confused and off put by the way I see my life—the bottom line is I don’t know what the color blue looks like to you. I don’t know what the different version of colors look like from your eyes. I don’t know what heat feels like on your skin and I cannot begin to know how your senses differentiate between something pleasing or pleasurable, to something that is unsightly or pained and uncomfortable.
Continue readingI agree that this is not intended for everyone. I don’t believe the following subject is something that most people will know about, nor should anyone have to know about this.
However, in the sad desperation of hardship, or in the course of imprisonment, and whether this jail is figurative, external or self-induced, or in the interest of darkness and after the fallouts or the aftermath of battle, or the drunken bouts of shame, or as a result of drug-induced sickness, or an otherwise circumstance, I think of the times when life was at its worst.
I think of when my back was against the wall or on the floor and the only way up was too far or too high for me to climb. I think of my own madness and the drooling lunacies of emotional downfalls or mental health catastrophes.
I think of the self-destructive moments, sad and terrible.
I think about the times when some of my old friends made me laugh. And yes, I say this again and again, and I’ll say this now, repeatedly, until my last breath or until the hour of my death (amen).
There are no friends like old friends.
There are no memories like the memories that shape our youth or the ones that remind us of the days when it was fine and safe to be wild or crazy.
I like to be crazy once in a while.
Don’t you?
And here’s another good “when” question . . .
When is enough, enough?
I ask this, as in how long do we need to keep this going?
How long do we need to be angry before we realize that all we do is run in circles and keep the pain alive? Why do we have to keep the feuds going?
How does this help us?
Why do we have to waste time and energy? If this is true, and if we are allowing ourselves to waste time and energy, then why do we keep the feuds alive? If it is us who keep them fights alive, then when is our turn to realize that our life will be better spent if we let go of the past so we can pay attention to a better future?
The Written Addiction 