I Am Afraid
Everyone fears, everyone has fears, anxieties which fuel so many of their actions, Irrational or not. They exist within all of us. They’re a significant part of our lives, and so I feel it best to mention some of mine.
I fear rejection. I fear it because I have been rejected before, mostly by people. Naturally, I wouldn’t want to experience it ever again; I don’t think anyone does, to be honest. I don’t think our purpose is to exist unwanted; if we aren’t wanted, if we aren’t cherished as individuals, why would we remain here? The only part I don’t quite understand is how willing we are to make others feel unwanted.
I fear being alone. Consider it a cliche, but I feel it regardless, it’s potency, it’s bitterness, Imagine, for a moment, what it would be like to have nothing to relate to. Imagine the horror of being completely alone, the one variable on the far left side of a gigantic math equation to which there are no other like terms. I fear that, and I don’t see how anyone couldn't. Isn't it out of anxiety that we so desperately seek relationships between other people and ob<x>jects? If we don’t fear being alone, how is it that the purpose of many of our activities is to establish a heightened sense of universality? It’s ultimately why I write, a fleeting attempt of mine to reach someone else.
I fear being shadowless, losing my outline as an individual, becoming a clean slate for others to decorate as they see fit. I fear forgetting who I am in the midst of trying to establish relationships with the things I love. We shouldn't be worried about changing ourselves for the better, if by changing, we are only going to get worse. It seems that as humans, we tend to fear our shadows, our dark spots, and so we try to remove them. We become so obsessed with getting rid of these dark spots our shadow. What we don’t understand in the end is that we are nothing without it. Only nothing has no shadow, no outline, no reflection.
I fear myself, or to be more specific, what I am capable of. I don’t particularly want to hurt others , but I feel as though I already have. I think to myself that the world might be better without me, but even if I left, I would still hurt others. Why are our emotions so delicate? Sometimes I wish people would make up their minds about me. People tell me how terrible I am, only to forgive me a few hours later. My opinion is abrasive, I know, so maybe the problem is me in the end. I’m just an insignificant figure who feels the need to talk about nightmares that have already come true.
I fear rejection. I fear it because I have been rejected before, mostly by people. Naturally, I wouldn’t want to experience it ever again; I don’t think anyone does, to be honest. I don’t think our purpose is to exist unwanted; if we aren’t wanted, if we aren’t cherished as individuals, why would we remain here? The only part I don’t quite understand is how willing we are to make others feel unwanted.
I fear being alone. Consider it a cliche, but I feel it regardless, it’s potency, it’s bitterness, Imagine, for a moment, what it would be like to have nothing to relate to. Imagine the horror of being completely alone, the one variable on the far left side of a gigantic math equation to which there are no other like terms. I fear that, and I don’t see how anyone couldn't. Isn't it out of anxiety that we so desperately seek relationships between other people and ob<x>jects? If we don’t fear being alone, how is it that the purpose of many of our activities is to establish a heightened sense of universality? It’s ultimately why I write, a fleeting attempt of mine to reach someone else.
I fear being shadowless, losing my outline as an individual, becoming a clean slate for others to decorate as they see fit. I fear forgetting who I am in the midst of trying to establish relationships with the things I love. We shouldn't be worried about changing ourselves for the better, if by changing, we are only going to get worse. It seems that as humans, we tend to fear our shadows, our dark spots, and so we try to remove them. We become so obsessed with getting rid of these dark spots our shadow. What we don’t understand in the end is that we are nothing without it. Only nothing has no shadow, no outline, no reflection.
I fear myself, or to be more specific, what I am capable of. I don’t particularly want to hurt others , but I feel as though I already have. I think to myself that the world might be better without me, but even if I left, I would still hurt others. Why are our emotions so delicate? Sometimes I wish people would make up their minds about me. People tell me how terrible I am, only to forgive me a few hours later. My opinion is abrasive, I know, so maybe the problem is me in the end. I’m just an insignificant figure who feels the need to talk about nightmares that have already come true.
26-30
