What Are You Afraid Of?

I get scared. 

Not just like regular scared. I’m terrified. I hate the idea of leaving my house, facing my job, coming to grips with the emotional connections I’ve made, dealing with the way I’ve decided to educate myself, etc etc etc. 

I’ll always feel like I didn’t deserve it. That I’m not good enough to accept my own good fortune. That I’m not good enough. 

I constantly feel like I’m back at my 5th birthday party, I’m always under my father’s gaze as I try to use a tool unsuccessfully, I’m perpetually having a shitty time at a New Year’s Eve party. I’m still getting punched in the face in the street outside of my apartment, that moment of contact when everything gets all fuzzy, to the point where you can’t tell if you’re even conscious. 

I dream about getting yelled at at work. 

It’s a comfort to know that’s not just something I feel. It’s part of being human. We hold onto those moments because they feel so goddamn defining. We hold on to those bad moments because we think they hold the key to a larger truth about our being. We make ourselves think we’re internally no good. It’s easier, safer, more cynical. Holding on to the negative is protection.

But it just ages you. All the benefits of shitty skin, a paunchy stomach, and dark eyes, but without any of the wisdom. 

I guess that’s why I joke; it makes the reality of life go down easier.  And if I can laugh at myself, at the world, at chalupas and love...maybe that’s something that gets a few people to laugh with me. And maybe through that, we can accept that we’re holding on to the wrong parts of our lives. 

I don’t have a cause in my heart worth dying for, except for the idea that eventually we won’t be so fucking hard on ourselves. If any of what I do brings even one person closer to that realization, I’ll be satisfied. The rest is just filler. 

And that makes me less scared.