Picture My Life

For Intellect. For Emotion. For Substance.

Posts tagged Fear

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I’m going to make myself excruciatingly vulnerable right now and tell you that I’m scared. I have the worst innate fear consuming me and I’m afraid that I’ll be haunted with this notion for the rest of my life.

I haven’t slept in days. I’ve spent my nights tossing and turning, fighting back tears and attempting to console myself. Struggling with the urge to ask the people who once promised they’d be there… to actually be there.

I try to act strong even though deep down I know just how frail I really am. It’s one of my worst attributes, despite trying to convince myself otherwise. Maybe it’s the reason why I didn’t go through with it this last time. Maybe it’s why I opted for one more week of being whole, competent. Seven days of insomnia and emotional agony aside.

Some say this is just a test. The thing is, I’ve been tested all my life and then some. What this really feels like is punishment, a life-long sentence for not being religious enough, not praying enough, not believing enough. I hate to say this, but I’m left feeling pretty faithless.

It’s nearly 3 a.m. and the furthest thing from my mind seems to be sleep. I find my fingers gripping at my bed sheets, soaked pillows and my mind in the last place I want it to be. Thoughts of then and now. Thoughts of tomorrow. The things I’ve lost before I’ve ever had the chance of having them.

…And now I’m with the one person who’s ever thought of me as enough, the one person that’s never made me feel inadequate. And one day this could be the one inadequacy he sees, the thing that makes me less than perfect, less than enough. And what then? What if I lose him and this thing I’ve lost before I’ve even had it and everything I’ve ever wanted all at once?

I don’t know what the right thing for me is. I’m afraid I’ll look back on this moment and wish I’d chosen the other route. I’ll wish I would’ve asked my mom. I’ll wish I would’ve prayed more. I’ll wish I would’ve had a little faith in something. I just don’t know how to turn to God and ask Him if I’ll be okay, if I’m just worrying for nothing.

I’m tired of having questions. I want an answer.

Filed under creative writing poem poetry thoughts dear diary prose spilled ink spoken word God pray prayer religion faith fear scared journal love trust sleepless insomnia question answer quote

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Toxic Thoughts

I know what I want.

For the first time, in a very long time, I can actual say that with honesty.

I know what I want.

Maybe I’m a little unconventional. Maybe I think too much like the opposite sex. Maybe what I want isn’t exactly typical for a woman, but I know what I want.

It scares most. My honesty, that is. My blunt vulgarity. 

Is it too much to ask for? That someone be as honest with me as I am with them?

What if I don’t want commitment? What if I’m not exactly looking for monogamy? What if I’m simply not interested in pretending like forever exists?

I stopped being gullible some time ago. Jaded? Maybe.

They all seem to come up with the same excuses: I’m too blunt, forward. I’m not a conventional female. I’m too open about my sexuality. I want all the wrong things…

Excuses. Fear.

I don’t care. I honestly don’t. I used to, I just don’t care anymore.

I know what I want. I know how to verbalize it. I know how to be honest about it. 

That’s more than I can say for most of the people I know.

People these days lack the ability to be honest about how they feel, about what they want. It’s all based on a fear of rejection, their insecurities of being judged for how they express themselves.

What is so wrong with being open, honest…promiscuous? It’s the verge of 2011. Let’s grow up a little, modernize.

I don’t want a fairytale. I don’t need another friend. 

Can the lies stop? The false advertisements need to cease and desist. 

I know what I want.

Can you be honest about what you want?

Filed under creative writing Sex honesty words fear reality check toxic 2011

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I hate feeling scared.

So, about a month ago I had a dream that I was raped. A very vivid dream.

I come home, I’m alone. My mother, siblings, gone. 

Nothing seems too out of the ordinary. I go into my room and put my belongings down. I’m used to having the door shut when I change, so as I turn back around to shut my door, a man appears in the shadows of the hall way. Tall. Beard. Unnerving.

I make a desperate attempt at shutting the door before he can reach it, I fail. He takes grasp of the door and pushes against it, against me. Forces it open. 

I tell myself to attempt an escape through the window, but for some reason I can’t reach it. 

I can’t find my phone. 

He walks towards me, nonchalant. I run, jump onto the bed, off the bed and out my bedroom door. He follows.

No matter how fast I ran, he somehow caught up with easy stride. My heart was beating so fast it hurt my chest, literally.

I’m running, everywhere in the house except out the door. I’m still not sure why I never went for the front door, or any of the other three excavating doors of the house.

I’m running and it’s been forever. I want my phone but can’t remember where I left it. I’m crying. I’m scared.

He corners me, somehow. I could fight him, but for some reason I choose not to. I tell myself it’ll be easier, quicker this way.

I beg him not to kill me. I promise him I won’t fight him as long as he doesn’t hurt me. I let him have me.

He pulls off my pants, my underwear. He got what he came for. I cry, he has no expression.

I woke up feeling disappointed in myself. Disgusted. Loathing. Sad.

This dream fucked me up.

Now every time I find myself about to enter my empty home, I panic. I try to find someone to walk in with me… a friend near by, a neighbor. Otherwise, I ask them to stay on the phone with me. I check the hallway, the rooms, the closets, bathrooms, kitchen, living room, laundry room, garage, backyard…anywhere I think someone could be hiding. Just in case. 

And even after I get off the phone, assuring my friend or myself that everything is secure, I’m still uneasy. I stay silent in my room, listening for a noise. The slightest creaking has me at my wits end. My heart pounding.

I feel like a 6 year old afraid of the monsters under her bed. Only these monsters are all in my head.

Maybe it’s because of what I do for a living? Maybe it’s the kind of stories I hear from the attorney’s? The show’s I watch? The news?

Filed under Dream Nightmare Rape Fear Creative Writing Spoken Word Sex Crying