A Lesson in Realization

October 10, 2017
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I  cannot physically see it, but I can feel it. It is like a constant grey cloud hovering over me to keep me from fully enjoying the bright, shining sun. It is a reminder from someone I love, that they don’t feel the same. It is like when someone tells you “Hey kid, you need to knock it down a notch, you aren’t that special.”  It is having a set home and not being able to wander outside of those skimpy, white picket fences in your yards.      


Fear. It is such a miniscule word but it has so much meaning behind it. It is different for each person, and it can be very broad or direct.  I am plagued with fear; a fear of living wrong, doing wrong, and being wrong. Imagine having a best friend. You are very close with this friend, inseparable. You and this friend were very close. Her room was my favorite place to be. The light purple walls gave the feeling of home, of safety. The sketch of your names and all of the quotes you shared were scattered on the walls in the handwriting of two friends in utter happiness. There was a hole in the wall from the time you were dancing to much and spun just a little too hard and fell into the wall with her still grasping your hands. It was a home away from home.  You have had this friend for years, but then something out of the blue happens. You stop having late night calls, writing funny letters, they don’t talk to you, and you cannot reach them. It is as if they threw you into a dark abyss with no where to go but wander along through the shadows thinking of all the wrongs that could’ve happened to get to this point. Now that home just seems like a place of lost hopes and worn dreams. It caused a fear of people, a fear of opening up to others.


Everyone has flaws, it is known that no one is perfect. Some people have the ability to roll it off, they take their flaws and fly with them. I was never blessed with this. I got stuck on the other end, the side that takes those flaws and does everything possible to hide them. I take what people say to heart, and I use that as reference. I think to myself “Don’t do this, they didn’t like that last time.” There is someone I used to know that would always point out my wrongs or would tell me how they were better than I was. I treated that as friendship because I did not know better. I did not know that this person was emotionally abusive. Sometimes you take things differently because you do not want to know the truth. I have several voices in my head of people telling me what I should and should not do. Thoughts of the people who have given me this fear. This fear of being wrong.


Death. Everyone knows what it is like to feel the pain of a death. Some people cope by talking about it and telling themselves that it death will happen. On the other hand, there are people like me. Death means a loss of myself, a little piece of me is gone. I can’t tell myself that it is “normal.’ It is not normal, it is heartbreaking. My grandma had died about 6 years ago and I still feel it as if it happened yesterday. She was the sweetest woman I had ever had the pleasure to know. Seeing her grey, curly hair pop out of the top of an open car door was always one of the best feelings. She always knew what to say and she was the quirkiest person I knew. She loved holidays and always over decorated.. She collected angels and put them above her windows to look down on us. She loved animals and always insisted that my dog loved to watch spongebob while sitting on the couch.  Recently I had to put that same dog down, the one that could sit on the couch and watch cartoons. My best friend. He was the best thing I had on this earth and he was my support system after everything I have been through. He was gentle, loving, soft and he loved to snuggle. When he was put down, he was in my lap. He layed on my crossed legs as I stroked his light blonde fur. I told him he was okay, even though I was not. I felt him go limp as they injected the light fluid into his leg. I felt his love before he left, and I was glad that I could let him pass in my arms. He died in my lap wrapped with a blanket, my tears, and my love. This was a feeling I would never want to feel again. And I would never want anyone else to feel this. The pain is like a needle weaving through my heart pulling at little strings to remind me that it will never go away. I fear death, but I fear living as well.


Love. It is such a simple word, I wish the experience was as simple. Love is a place to go when you need comfort. A place to fall when you need someone to catch you. But what if the people in your realm of love leave? Who is there to catch and comfort you? No one. It leaves you alone and scared. It makes you wonder as to how you can go on without having support. It makes you trust yourself and only yourself. It makes you build up walls and you see love differently. I am not trying to say that love doesn’t exist because it does exist. My first love is one of the best people I have ever met. I think of him often. I think of his tan skin and dark, curly hair. I think of his sweet smile and his contagious laugh. I think of the happiness we shared and the times my cheeks would become sore because of all the smiles he brought to my face. He is amazing in every form of the word. I am not afraid of him, I am afraid of never finding a love like this one.


Sometimes life comes so fast and is so unbelievably unexpected. Life responds to your questions, but not always with the answers you wanted. And that, that is what I am afraid of. I am afraid of what has happened and what will happen. I am afraid of the unexpected. I am afraid of the other directions in which life can take me. I am afraid of anything that could possibly turn to disaster. I am afraid of living.


In the end I look at myself and I realize that I am my fear. I am love. I am flawed. I am alone. I am unexpected and I am a mess. I am all the things that scare me, and those things might be the best parts of me.






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