It’s been twenty days since my first post.
I started two post during these past few days, two I couldn’t finish for the life of me. But after two weeks of fighting what I first thought was tonsillitis, then turned out to be measles and now we’re thinking it’s dengue fever I realized that the true reason why I couldn’t finish those first two posts was not the lack of time or me being too sick and tired to come up with anything. It was fear.
I’ve started maybe ten blogs since I was fourteen. First ones were directed to my fictional production at the time, poems, tales and such. Then I had journal blogs, book review blogs, blogs about every single thing I have ever considered a hobbie or an interest of mine and none of them – I repeat, none – went past ten or fifteen posts. Most of them were never advertised, none of friends or family members ever heard of them. Some were collabs with friends, some I had the courage to tell people about, but at the end they’d all die and not even slowly. They just died.
And looking at all that now I realize it was all because of fear. I’ve been an anxious person since I can remember, and always deadly scared. Not only of clowns or heights, but of everything. I was scared of making people upset, of failing grades, of not finishing books I started writing but also not liking the books so I’d drop them in half. I quit ballet because I was afraid of being bullied (because of my weight, which will most definitely be the subject of future entries); I quiet taekwondo because I was afraid of getting hurt. I was always afraid of showing people my writing because I was scared of not being good enough. Or even worse, I was scared of being too good, raising their expectations and later not living up to them. I am always scared. And this fear had led me absolutely nowhere in my life.
Looking back now ever single thing I have ever conquered in life was during a small, brief moment of complete carelessness, recklessness. And the things I either regret or know were not the best choices are the ones I know I chose when afraid of something. I’m months away from graduating my first college, a place I now hate and that has changed my life in so many ways (most of them not really that good) and that I chose to be in because I was afraid of moving too far from my family, picking a place that could maybe possibly be not that good for my future CV, moving to a country town and never finding a job. I moved away from my mother’s house, from a city I loved, to a stressful and crazy place just because I was afraid to admit that maybe I didn’t want that life at the time. I know speaking like that it makes it sound like I’ve only made bad choices in life and I am now one hundred percent unhappy and I swear that is not the case. But I can see now the long list of things I did out of fear and they are worse than the ones I didn’t do for the same reason. And I am so tired of it.
Fears had gotten me nowhere but places I didn’t want to be. It has done nothing but deprive me of amazing opportunities, great friends. It has gotten me to the point where I weight over two hundred pounds, take more meds than my eighty-five years old grandma and with a terrible sense that I am watching my life happen in front of my eyes without the courage to step in and say ‘hey, you are mine, stop rolling without me’. So I say – pardon my French – enough of that shit. This post is me saying enough! Enough of letting fear take over our lives and our will! Enough of allowing our brains to trick us into not doing something or even doing it because it manipulates us into being afraid! Let us use fear as a healthy defense mechanism, not as a crutch on which we support the weight of our cowardness.
May this second entry be number two out thousand more to come. And hey, you, fear?