I’m gonna sit down and list my fears. Most of my fears are unrecognized or unacknowledged because I don’t allow myself to believe that I have fears. Because fears are weakness.
I’m gonna set myself a quota, because I know if I don’t write at least 500 words, I’m gonna underdevelop my thesis. I never discipline myself enough.
My greatest fear, historically, has been shame. I’m afraid of being wrong, I’m afraid of being dumb. I’m afraid of being corrected on a mispronounced word. I’m afraid of showing too much skin, I’m afraid of wearing maxidresses. I’m afraid of having body hair and the word pimples. Zits isn’t much better. Breakouts is acceptable but I’m still afraid of having them, because they look like pimples. I’m afraid of telling my grandma that I’m queer, even though she’s the only person left to tell. She doesn’t feel like the right pronoun for my grandma. But neither does anything else, it’s just grandma. I’m afraid of awkward conversations and awkward emotions and sloppily spoken thoughts that I’ve been thinking for a long time. I’m afraid of not being eloquent to the point that I can’t string 3 words together anymore without breaking the English language.
I’m afraid of speaking Spanish in my broken accent. I’m afraid of talking race or politics to people who are smarter than me for fear that I’ll say something ignorant. I’m afraid of speaking without thinking, overthinking, reanalyzing, and half the time the words don’t come out because I hold them in rather than say the wrong thing; it becomes an impediment I’m afraid to communicate
I’m afraid to ask questions, to take up space. I’m afraid to acknowledge that I’m still afraid to take up space. I’m supposed to be strong, independent, having unlearned all the sexism, gender roles and unhealthy sexuality (or lack thereof, or lack of acknowledging it, or the weird conflict between Puritanical America and Hollywood America)
I’m afraid to smell, afraid to sing, afraid to dance, afraid to talk to myself out loud in public,
I’m afraid to think about taboos, afraid I used to and now I taught myself how to be unable to anymore. Afraid to think I’ve changed for the worse in some ways, become a drone; complicit, complacent
I’m afraid to be ugly, afraid to bask in ugly; how come nobody’s allowed to be ugly, even if it’s the truth. How come masturbation is an uncomfortable topic in mixed company. It’s kind of skewed my understanding of what is subjective and what is objective reality, fact.
I urge myself to find things to believe in or out of. Like hell, like magic, like chakras and meditation. I’m afraid to admit these things might not work for me. I’m afraid to believe they could.
I’m afraid to duplicate I hate to copy I hate to take inspiration, as though everything I create must be pulled from thin air, blank canvas, as if the angel in the marble is already there and my inspiration is divinely given. But the canvas is bare and I’m staring at the page, getting lost in fuzzy static white space nothing coming to the surface so I resort to cutting art into smaller bits and pieces till the source is unidentifiable.
I’m afraid to edit and I’m afraid to leave it. It’s easier to leave it but the raw material’s usually 70% inspiration, 30% shit. Sometimes the other way around.
I’m afraid to initiate physical contact but I’m more afraid to reciprocate. I’m afraid of heartbreak but worse I’m terrified of someone confessing their feelings to me, to have to handle someone’s feelings delicately. I’m afraid of being a bad friend, and I’m afraid that I’m never an excellent friend. I’m afraid that I’m not my own best friend and that my depression and anxiety sometimes get the best of me and I can’t enjoy sunny days and I’d rather stay in bed than go for a walk because I’m existentially exhausted so often these days
I’m afraid I’m not making enough difference. But I’m afraid there’s no reason to make a difference and if I don’t care anymore why could I never compromise my own morals? What makes people do bad things I can’t fathom. Being severely agnostic, I can’t fathom not even being humanist. If God doesn’t exist, why shouldn’t we make our time on this earth even more worthwhile. Sure nothing matters but I was raised to give it my all anyway while I’m here, while I’m at it. My mother can be quoted as saying, if you’re a garbage man, be the best damn garbage man you can be. I asked if that still applied if I became a stripper. she just laughed and said yeah, I guess.
I’m afraid that my memory’s shit and that I don’t use my brain capacity to its full potential. I’m afraid that I’ll never be talented like a real slam poet. I’m afraid I’ll never master a musical instrument, or be able to sing pretty or dance or keep rhythm when I clap along.
I’m afraid I’d never be able to recite my own autobiography, that I repress my personal history, that I spend too much time going forward to appreciate my past but I’m so grateful for the changes I’ve made and that I’ve come this far from who I used to be as if that person was something to be afraid of. I’m afraid I don’t belong on this earth, that even though I didn’t ask to be here, I constantly have to shy away from taking my rightful place. The place everyone else claims just by virtue of existing. Why is it that I allow everyone else to be validated but I will not allow myself the very same benefit. I’m afraid of hearing myself on video, on sound recordings. I’m afraid to play back my past mistakes. I’m afraid to keep old writing and art that I’ve made.
I’m afraid I’m ashamed.
I’m afraid of things I don’t understand because I don't understand them. fear of the unknown, you know? algebra, masculinity, ghosts, violence. But mostly I’m afraid I don’t understand myself completely.
I’ve been learning a lot of good stuff about society. I began to deconstruct who holds power to keep me ashamed of myself. I realized I have to know who is shaming me, and why I care. I have to reevaluate if I still care, or if allowing myself to be as I am is a bigger priority (spoiler alert: it is). I realized if I become shameless, I will be open to doing more things. I realized I have to confront my fears and in order to do that, first bring them to consciousness. I don’t understand how men can be so damn entitled, like they’ve never been shamed, never been told no don’t do that, no that’s inappropriate. No that’s stupid, no that’s not impressive. They are congratulated just for living their normal, mundane lives. And so they attempt to push the boundaries of what is an arguably normal life. And they continue to not get no’s. and they continue to push and push and do weirder, more stupid things. And we let them.
it’s 1am and i just made a list of the things i’m afraid of. it’s a lot longer list than i thought it would be. and nowhere in there does it include heights or spiders or dying alone. but i am afraid of heights and spiders. i’m not afraid of dying alone.
