Tuesday, June 15, 2010

Finding Forty, Day 20; Scared

When do you stop being scared? Do you ever outgrow fear? My thinking on this is, probably not.

My sister just called to tell me about a string of robberies around her house. She lives out in the country, so it's very isolated and fairly common for thieves to take advantage of that. She's been robbed twice in the past few years. But this time, it's different. In one case, the perpetrators entered the house while the couple was at home, tied them up, and proceeded to rob them. I don't want to be scared, but tomorrow I leave to go watch my nephews while the rest of her family goes on vacation. Can a 40 year old woman and a band of little boys take on thieves?

I was already worried about getting scared at her house at night, when the pitch black darkness creeps in and the dogs bark at seemingly nothing. You feel as if you're a sitting duck. Now I have to add the worry of burglars to the mix. Great.

But beyond burglars and nightfall, my life, my future, they scare me. It's not that I want or need a crystal ball to show me everything that's coming up, I just wish I had a general sense that all will be well.

My love scares me. The way I still love S, despite everything I've let him do to me, truly terrifies me. I cannot fathom being released from the choke hold he has on me, can't even get to where I want to and that is just fucked up. Time and time again he's pushed me away, and all I can do is hold on to the fact that I've seen his love for me in his eyes. It's a look that can't be disguised, can't be fabricated and it is deeper and truer than even he cares to admit. He's casting me aside, but I know he loves me. And that scares me.

I scare me. I'm impetuous, intense, emotional for sure. Last night I drank an entire bottle of red wine as I sobbed and blubbered and hosted my very own pity party. This morning, my eyes were crusted shut. I had to wash my face so they'd open properly. Even still, at almost noon, they are swollen and red. My appearance surely is frightening, but I'm a survivor. I'll get by.

But I'm not sure I want to and that really scares me. Sometimes I just want to give up and give in and lay down and essentially die. I have these scenes in my head, like movies, of me being sick or dying and S coming to the realization, all too late, that he lost the greatest thing he ever knew. Not healthy, I know, and I don't walk around entertaining such nonsense all day long. But in the darkness of my mind, I do.

I have to let go. Admit defeat. Move on.


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