Afraid

  

Rejection.   False Judgment.    I fear that look in his eyes that says, "I'm trying to care, but I just can't".  Being thirsty, and being denied water.   Being burnt.   Small spaces.   Clown Faces.    Zealots.    Always being the last to realize what should have been obvious all along.  Being the butt of the joke.   Inadequacy.    Growing old.   People who believe in figments of their imagination.   My ex husband, and all the promises of pain he still has to make good on.   Failure.   Driving.   Getting my hair cut.    Weighing myself.   Looking in a mirror, and realizing that I am no longer young.   Singing in public.    Being misunderstood.    I fear that no matter what I do, it'll never bee good enough.   Drowning in my own vomit.   Cancer.   Losing my sight.   Being on life support.    Being alone, and realizing that I'm not really lonely.   Being seen crying.  People.   Being raped, again.   Being burnt alive.  Not being able to love.    Bridges.   Becoming bitter.   Jellyfish.    Needles.   


   The things I fear are real, they're valid, they frighten the shit out of me... and I'm helpless to control almost all of them.
   My parents are to thank for my security issues, and lack of positive self esteem, or healthy body image... for my lack of confidence, my fear of failure, and the bitterness that lurks just beneath the surface. I can thank them for fucking up any chance I had at a real education, or ever going to college. Thanks mom. I know you meant best, right? I was the golden child, right?

    Is it wrong of me to want to be loved, to be shown love? Is it wrong to believe that it could build confidence in something which may, or may not be? What it is, it will be, and it's not... so here I begin to see, that I'll never be good enough. Or even enough. She was, and the one before her, and I'll never be. No matter how much I do, or give, or am to anyone. I'm not her.
  Bitterness is seeping in, and I want to be alone. I want to be angry, to be violent, to destroy, because I fear my own bitterness more than I fear rejection. Here I sit all paint covered, being hailed for food, and not done earning my keep... and I'm bitter. I want love. I want to hear it, to see it, to know it, to share it. Can't have it.
    So afraid, I'm so afraid. I don't want to be alone, but not lonely. I'm blocking out myself too, and all that is good will soon be completely gray, and tasteless, and dull. And for what? What the fuck does it accomplish? Nothing... I'm just afraid, and shutting down.