Category Archives: Growth

Zero to hero: Escaping my fear

The cacophony of items streaming through my mind when I started my blog were very bipolar. The greatest item was the desperate need to overcome my fear of failing as a writer. I have always been a writer, despite being dyslexic words have always taken me beyond the mundane ways of life. I have always hidden my words because like many others I am damaged goods. My over riding sense of unworthiness amongst the mass of voices already out there and the ones clamoring to be heard have always informed me how insignificant I am. Therefore I have rarely shared any of what I write. I have a novel that I started thirteen years ago. I stopped working on it about five years ago because of my devastating inner monologue. The words have never ceased to flow from my mind to the laptop. It is just that my fear is so certain they have little value compared to the ones that are already there. This is the hope upon which I have dwindled into a 42 year old hack.

My husband and I bought ourselves a motorcycle for our 21st anniversary last October. That one tiny choice led to my reinvigoration. I had never been on a bike before. Truthfully, I was terrified of being so vulnerable to pain but my husband was a gentle tutor. He schooled me on letting go of my tension and fear. The more we rode the further we traveled. The roar of the motor combined with the intensity of the wind brought my mind to a singular focus. I am a writer. The ride clarified my thoughts. The inspiration of all that surrounded me seemed to quiet my insecurity and erase my previous failures.

I have been constricted by the alleged rules of society all of my life only to discover that the only rules are the ones I create. I am trying to hone in on making my existence one of true liberation. I seek to liberate myself from doubt, self hatred, self destruction. I have been a slave to those for way too long. They have worn me down to a tired self loathing lump of physical and emotional pain that was moved or stilled by the whims of the powers greater than me. I never wanted to live a life dependent on the kindness of others but there I was moaning about how miserable I was due to the injustices and misdeeds of the world around me. My life had become a passive one and passivity was a brutal master.

I wanted to rage against my fate and our anniversary gift was revealing the universal secrets of rebelling and living outside the boundaries. The bike was an ethereal key to unlocking the shackles of my fear and setting me on a path of actively living true to the soul within me. My blog is my coming out into the light of liberty, a step on the path of actively living true to the writer in me. The truth that drives me to create my blog is to quiet my fear and prove that my insights are of value in this world. Even if only to myself, my words are worthy and if by some miracle I am a gifted writer then my emancipation will be completed.

 

Fear derides me

Panic hides me

Berating soul

Dividing whole

Imprisoning self

Depriving health

Imploring hate

Eroding fate

Building the cell

That emulates hell

Promoting silence

Inviting violence

Stealing my way

From the bright ray

Terror my chains

Pain my stocks

Fear reigns

This battered box

 

 

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Illusionary Vinyl

Our connection was deeper than the grooves of the albums you shared with me. As my mother, you were often mean and contradictory but when it came to the music I was a trusted confidant. When you left all I wanted was to keep those small discs of vinyl that brought us together. I didn’t get them but that doesn’t erase what we shared when those magic pieces of vinyl spun on the turntable. It connected me to your joy, pain and the things in your life that you just didn’t know how to say. My earliest memories are of your music surrounding me and filling the room. There was so much wrong with us but when those shiny black discs made their way from the crisp, colorful paper covers everything was right. I miss that, now you’re gone. I still have the music. Styx was on TV last night and I was immediately taken back to sneaking your Grand Illusion album from the stereo stand and listening to it while waiting for you to come home from work. Praying that I would hear your car pull in the drive to be able to dispose of the evidence quickly enough. That was when I was a little girl. When I was older I have memories of attending concerts with you. Bob Dylan was our first. God, that sucked so bad. He was so drunk and that asshole in front of us attempting to school his jail bait date on the importance of Dylan’s music to the sixties counter culture movement and how much we laughed at how asinine that guy’s comments were. The Phil Collins concert that we scared the shit out of each other driving from KC to Wichita late at night passed that haunted cemetery. I haven’t been to a concert since you died. I don’t know why. I just haven’t. Maybe, it would hurt too much to experience it without you. Perhaps I have lost the interest in attending concerts as I’ve aged. After all, it’s just a grand illusion, to be here missing you, missing the music, missing that connection, mostly missing us. The bond we shared over our love for the feelings that could only be expressed through sound.