Fear is defined as an unpleasant emotion caused by the belief that something or someone is dangerous, likely to cause pain or a threat.
I wanted to try something new in my writing this month, however, I am fearful of the reaction I may receive. I fear being misunderstood or out of place with this post. So bare with me as I share a little story regarding fear.
I started writing before I was able to read. I was made to fall in love with the reading of words through poetry. I was enveloped into the fantasy tales of Harry Potter and Eragon. I traversed the skeletal closets of all the VC Andrews novels.
My history classes made learning so much more fun as we explored the way history had been captured in music and stories.
I learned about philosophy and psychology and the still young exploration of group mentality from people like Thoreau, Rousseau, and Carl Jung.
I explored languages to get a deeper understanding of people, cultures, and religions.
Then I fell into a hole so dark and deep I couldn’t breathe. I was barely able to function. The only thing visible I could see was my son because he was right in front of me.
Depression does funny things to people. For me, it meant obsession with learning how to write and make money online. After all, I needed a way to support my child while also never leaving him. (That was fear talking.)
Those days were dark days for me.
Now I find myself sitting on a precipice looking down at another dark and foreboding hole.
The world is at a standstill.
I sit upon my porch,
Staring at a sea of black.
The world appears so much darker
When no one is roaming.
I look upon my kids
With a fridge that grows
Emptier
By
The day.
A bank account close to empty.
I look upon my past
A smile for my hard work.
And
A grimace
Because the future sits unknown.
Sometimes we can give everything we have, but ultimately it’s not enough. I spent the past two years doing everything I could to get myself out of the dark hole of my depression.
I changed my mindset.
I changed my habits.
I started treating my writing like a business instead of a hobby.
However, as we sit in this great pandemic that has worked its way around the world I can’t help but worry. I cannot help, but think perhaps I went too far with treating my writing as a money maker. Perhaps I should have given more time to creative works like this one?
Then maybe, just maybe I wouldn’t be sitting here with worry about my small bank account, or my dwindling fridge.
Maybe instead I would simply be enjoying this black night. The dark sky and the smell of rain dripping from the trees. I would be able to take in the beautiful scent that comes with the decay of foliage.
Do you understand what I’m trying to say?
Because if I am 100% honest, I am not sure I do. I do this sometimes, write pretty-sounding words on a page in hopes to clear my mind.
These are not things I typically share on my page, but this time I thought I would be honest. I feel I have not been quite so honest with my words. Like I have been too hyper-focused on the growth and the sale.
Tell me, would you like to read more posts like this one?
Beautiful words on a page..a screen.
Is this what people mean when they say they want authenticity?
I am being honest here in these words. I feel fear, and not just because of the current state of the world, I had this fear long before.
A fear that my words would be misunderstood, ignored.
So tell me what are you afraid of?
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