The Only Thing I'm Afraid Of Is Me

January 3, 2014
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There is only one thing in this world that I am truly scared of. It isn't spiders. It isn't dogs. It isn't death. It isn't fires. It isn't water. It isn't heights. It's a person. And that person is me.

I have the power to do many things. I can encourage people and make them happy, or I could be mean and sullen. I can channel all my energy and excel at being good at something, or I can sit in the corner, not really caring. I can be the person that everyone looks up to, or I can be the person that everyone looks down on.

I can do anything and everything. I could be having a bad week and I take that out on someone I know. That someone might not be as strong as me. That someone might go home and cry on their bed. That someone might take out a razor and do something serious.

I never asked for this power. I never asked to be able to turn people's lives around by being in a room with me for a second. I never asked to have the ability to hurt people. I never asked to have the power to damage people. I never asked for any of it.

But I have it. And it looms over me day and night, the consequences reigning over me. I'm winning a battle that I'm not even fighting. Can't I just lose? I want to lose. I want to be weak. I want to be the kid who runs upstairs and cries in their room. I want to be the kid who gets hurt all the time. I want to be the kid who bears those insecure scars. I can handle that. Pain, physically or verbally, doesn't bother me.

But I bother me. I can't handle me. I can't handle hurting people. I can't handle going in and out unscathed every time. I can't handle the little comments I make that seem to dig deep in their skin, leaving a mark every time.

They have to know I don't mean it. They have to know that I don't try to do that. It's just me. It's a me I don't like. I want it to be gone. I want me to be gone.

All I do is hurt people over and over again. I'm tired of it. I'm trying of trying to stop a tsunami. Because me is me and I can't stop it. Even if I try to stop it, it peaks out like the edges of a hardcover book under its paper cover. A simple paper cover can't hide me. Nothing can hide me. Not the hours of sleep to get me out of this world longer. Not the cheek biting reminding me to "stop, don't say it." Not the days reading books to avoid contact with the outside world. Not stupid rants like this that I write to try and understand what "me" is.

Nothing helps. And I'm tired of trying. Should I try one last attempt? The final attempt? The last of me on this earth alive?

But I can't. I've somehow managed to make friends. Even though I'm a little tricky, they've learned to love me. And I have my family, who gets the blunt of me. They get the sarcastic remarks at the end of the day that turn into huge fights where harsh words are thrown effortlessly around. But they still love me. I know they do. They only fight because the love me. That means they care. They care enough to fight for me.

So, here I stay. Shifting between two world... Two me's. Hating myself in a world that's already hating me. But I can bear it. I'm strong.

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