I Am Not My Fears

I am filled with fear.
I am a big ball of afraid.
I cannot walk down a street, day, night, light, dark, without being terrified.
I flinch at the sound of fallen leaves,
I turn the wind, outside my window, into voices calling to me.
I turn my own thoughts into self hatred and I am afraid of betrayal from all those I meet.

I am filled with fear.
I do not know if I will ever get past this stage.
My counsellor calls it post traumatic stress disorder – from sexual, physical, mental abuse.
My family calls it childish – drink a cup of cement and you’ll be fine.
My friends no longer call it anything – because they’re dwindling, fleeing the stress, the over reactions, the desperation.

I am filled with fear.
I accept that.
It does not define me.
I am strong.
I can calm a strangers child, I can defuse arguments before they begin, I can take the praying mantis outside when I find it in the cocoa container.

I am filled with fear.
But I am not only filled with fear.
I am filled with love, hope, faith, trust, care, devotion and more.
I may be filled with  fear,
but that’s certainly not who I am.

 

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