The List

fear:

noun 

an unpleasant emotion caused by the belief that someone or something is dangerous, likely to cause pain, or a threat.

verb 

be afraid of (someone or something) as likely to be dangerous, painful, or threatening.

Driving home from therapy last night, I was thinking about those walls that had been destroyed. If I was a cartoonist, the picture of my brain would have been a bitmoji me, rocking in a hammock with stacks and stacks of fictional books around me. My nose would be stuck in one book and there would be so many books, that you’d almost miss those thick, tall concrete walls surrounding me and my books. From this picture, you’d think that I’m so engrossed in my books and so comfy in my hammock, that I’ve never even noticed those walls. You’d only be slightly wrong in this assumption, because I know when those walls were erected and I’ve always known they were there. After all, I built them myself. I just couldn’t destroy them myself, because I was too busy reading fiction and that corner with the “how to books”, was dusty, I was afraid of what I’d find. Besides, I don’t operate large machinery… Well, other than my car.

Shortly after my walls were destroyed by the Brit with the permit, my brain was absolute chaos. The walls were down and so damn broken, that I couldn’t put them back up again. The thing is I really, really, REALLY didn’t want to put them back up. It was a goddamn war zone of emotions in my brain where abject terror and panic reigned, but also this bizarre sense of certainty that I am okay. My brain has moved into a sort of calmness, but also into complete exhaustion as the past 3 months have been defined by a period of candid self reflection. Though the fat lady ain’t singing yet. While I don’t believe self reflection is a one time kind of item, I also don’t believe that it’s always quite this exhausting.

Now that my brain is calmer, my bitmoji self is standing among the debris, with her hands on her hips and surveying what’s gone down. Somewhere though I’ve begun picking up the pieces of my walls, examining them and gently laying them back down because I don’t know what else to do with them.

Being that people build metaphorical walls around them as a defense and/ or response to trauma and pain, it may not be surprising to learn that the pieces of the wall I’ve examined thus far are made up of fears. To get past fear, I need to identify what the fear is. On my drive last night, I decided that to create a list of these fears might be the best way to examine them fully. This thought was so scary that I almost drove off the road to give into panic, before I reminded myself that a list CANNOT hurt me. Also, I LOVE making lists, it’s one of my favorite things. I make grocery lists; to do lists; gift lists; project lists; pro and cons lists about every single crush I’ve had or major decisions I had to make; etc…. Look, I just made a list about my lists. So why the hang up on making a fear list? Well, because then it exists… Right there… In black and white. And that terrifies me. Examining my fears, acknowledging the fear, is my top fear.

Of course since I came up with this idea, my bitmoji self is totally on board and just waiting for the order to pick up a piece of wall and examine it. Also, she’s kind of been letting me know, in list format of course, what she’s seen thus far. Some of the things she’s listed are truly scary and will need to be examined further and addressed, but some, I’m not sure why they are there. Some of my fears almost seem silly and I wonder if those fears were potentially collected to help fortify my walls. Either way, each piece will need to be collected, examined, and then properly disposed of or put away, so that I can move from this fear based living, into my dream of coming from a place of love.

Wish me luck… No, wish me perseverance.

The Timeline of Fear

Six months ago, if you asked me what in life I feared, I would have responded in one of two ways. The first option, and admittedly most prevalent way I would have answered would be a scoff coupled with an aggressively smug “Not a single damn thing.” (Did you just roll your eyes? Don’t worry, I’m pretty sure my therapist did at least internally roll her eyes when I responded like that to her.) The second option would have depended on who you were, but it would have be a silent, thoughtful pause followed by a puzzled, but also indifferent “I can’t think of anything I’m afraid of.”

About three and a half months ago had you repeated that question to me, or even if you found yourself asking it for the first time, you still would get one of two responses. Option one: please see above’s option one. Three and a half months ago that was still a very real response for me. If I knew you or was feeling kind of vulnerable, I could quietly reply that I was afraid of not living my dreams… Or something that alluded to that.

Are you wondering my age because I specified three and a half months? The half is important, but I promise you I’m significantly older than 11 years old. Don’t judge, you’ll understand soon enough why that distinction is there.

Repeat the question to me again about two months ago and the only response available at that time would be a panicked, potentially screamed through tears “OHMIGAWD! EVERYTHING!” Absolutely frightening I know, because I lived it and that was my reality.

Now if you’re asking me that question today, the answer is delivered much calmer. It’s an unequivocal, “It seems like too much to list, so I’m actively trying to establish what is actually  on the list.” At least I didn’t yell or cry while giving my answer this time.

Why is my fear evolving along this timeline? What provoked this evolution? Cue the universe giving me a shove in the direction I’ve needed to go, by putting my path set to a straight up collusion course with Mister AN three months ago (told ya that distinction mattered.) Mister AN is a giant of a person (and personality, for that matter) and he was supposed to teach me some situational awareness, instead what happened was I walked into the classroom only to come face to face with this beast of a man. He sauntered over to me, looked me square in the eyes and said “Yeah sweetie, you think you’re big, bad and tough? You think you’ve seen shit? You think you know what rough feels like? Darlin’, I’m going to flip your world upside down. I’m going to wreck you. Everything you thought you knew? Ha. Baby, when I’m done, you won’t even know your name.”

Little side note here- While that most certainly is an accurate description of what has occurred, he did NOT say any of that. For starters, we were at work and saying all that would have been inappropriate. No seriously, you can’t talk like that at work. This isn’t the fucking wild west. And secondly, he’s British. He totally would have pronounced the “g” in darlin’.

Mister AN, in short, has been the most destructive wrecking ball I’ve ever encountered. A single week of his acquaintance and my walls were destroyed. I begged the universe for help, and it laughed, said “hold my beer”, gave some British bloke a permit to have at it with my mind, heart and soul.

Perhaps I sound a little ungrateful here. Rest assured, I most certainly am not. I even wrote Mister AN a thank you e-mail. Sure I was a bottle and a half of red wine in when I wrote it, but my gratitude had been weighing on my heart and needed to be shared with him. Who cares that I didn’t perfectly articulate my thoughts? The sentiment was clear and that is what counts.

I say all of this to highlight why I’m starting this blog. I need to write. Not writing, is like holding my breath. Yes, I journal. I write short stories and poems too, but I missed blogging. A long time ago I stopped blogging out of fear. I was so afraid my family would read what I write and they wouldn’t approve, but I can’t live like that anymore. I must write and I must share. I have to be vulnerable, open and honest.

My life absolutely depends upon it.