The Power of Fear

I’ve been running with Fear most of my life.

He first introduced himself quietly when we started our gait, masking himself in robes of rage to keep warm.

We jogged through the heartache of  abandonment, as doors slammed and shrieks echoed in the halls of my childhood. Fear held my hand tightly, and whispered those bitter nothings into my ear- The voice that said I deserved to be left.  

Our pace quickened as I reached adulthood, where Fear drug me through the fires of abandonment and the ashes of addiction. He grasped my hand firmly, murmuring those sour words that burned my ears.

-I am not loveable.

But Alas, Fear and I raced on into the storms of marriage and loss where I contended with the waves of loneliness and rejection. Nevertheless, Fear was present, snarling his rabid words into my ears as he petted away falling tears. -You are weak.

And there I shook, rocking back and forth before Fear pulled me on into the fog of the unknown. There I breathed in the thickness of anxiety, as depression swirled around my feet. But Fear was faithful, and he wrapped his arms around me and held me tight.

Fear is my demon. He is the reason so many of my dreams go unspoken and untried.

You see, I have listened to the rhythmic sound of my feet striking the Earth again and again to suffocate his voice. I have ascended hills before the breaking of dawn has caressed their curves, my legs burning with urgency. I have wondered if the salt coating my lips was from the dripping of sweat or the escaping of my tears. You see, I have ran until my body was beaten black and blue from exhaustion. So for the first time, I am Still. The aching of my limbs and the heaviness of my heart has become to agonizing to march on.

My soul yearns to run physically, emotionally and spiritually, but cannot. Now as the rising sun licks aways the frost each morning, I sit quietly contending with my Demon, and I finally understand;

It’s not the pounding of my feet or the warmth of my breath that loosens these chains that bind me, but the words on this page-my heart throbbing, raw and exposed. Something I’ve denied myself for countless years because I was too afraid. Frightened of rejection, unnerved by intimacy, absolutely terrified by vulnerability. These words have been gasping for air, yet all of this time I thought it was my lungs from the pounding of my feet.

I cry often, simply because my body is healing and cannot do what I wish of it. But thank God, because in turn my soul is mending in a way I have denied it for years.

Fear stops in from time to time, but I no longer take his hand when he outstretches it. Instead, I find solace in leaving my beating heart on this page.