Tag: Fear

It’s Vile

Photo by Engin Akyurt from Pexels

It’s vile, this feeling I have inside. It’s vile. I can feel the vomit rising through my body. I feel the fear I have pushed down for years and I feel the anger that burns inside of me.

When I was born did my mother feel this wretch of pain knowing that because I was born female I would live a fearful life? Every day I must wake knowing that I will never be seen as a person. I am seen as an object to control.

They whisper in your ear be good, don’t act this way, be watchful. You never know what’s coming around the corner and you don’t know what their intentions are. Will they allow you one more day or is today your last?

For the month of August, the supposed Women’s Month, I have heard countless stories of women and children being raped and/or killed. I’ve heard stories of young girls, girls barely able to comprehend what’s about to happen to them, being stolen from places that we all thought was safe. You may think “Oh that’s nothing new.”

That’s. Nothing. New.

Is that really a statement that should be so casual? Is it such a common thing that we can look at it and say, “Well it’s unfortunate but these things happen…” Where? When did we start normalizing this aggression aimed at women and children? Aimed at anyone for that matter? Why are we still crying out for justice and understanding?

How long will I have to be meat? How long will I have to walk like a man in the street just so that I get over looked? How long will I have to continuously look over my shoulder to make sure I’m not being followed? How long will I have my hand in thick jackets clutching my knife and how long will I have to create potential scenarios in my head where I have to fight off an anonymous attacker?

Why do I have to heighten my senses and always be alert? Why do I listen for any signs of the slightest struggle? Why when I say no is it not enough. Why do I have to say “I have a boyfriend” before you’ll consider leaving me alone? Why do I have to entertain your greeting and conversation? What about me says I’m interested? Why do I have to live in fear?

This isn’t normal. This isn’t just something I need to learn to live with just because it happens everywhere. Stop telling me that I shouldn’t live in fear because that’s not living. I’m not living now. I have to take 100 precautionary steps before leaving the front door and another for every step I take there after. No you don’t see it because it’s so thoroughly ingrained into my being that it’s become part of who I am. Do you understand what it’s like to have to keep someone happy just in case they lose their temper and hurt you? Do you understand going to people who you thought would help and protect you only to tell you, “We can’t do anything here, you need to go elsewhere.”

This is not normal.

Fear is a powerful thing, it comes out in anger and masks the real pain that’s been hiding for so long. What do you do when your cry for help is ignored? What do you do when every day, with every story more and more of your hope for a better life gets chipped away? Once your hope gets chipped away you start looking for an escape. It doesn’t really matter what form of escape it is, fear will make you desperate. Fear will either take your life or make you take another and that is not normal.

Happiness

Two hands facing each other creating a heart shape.

Photo by Jasmine Wallace Carter from Pexels

I sometimes wonder if anyone has ever had these lonely moments where they question whether they deserve their happiness and if it’s okay to be “proud” of your happiness. I’ve questioned myself countless times, wondering if it’s okay for me to be happy.

Two years ago I found someone who I thought was just going to be a fleeting moment in my existence. He was kind to me during a time where most people would rather pull away. I wouldn’t blame them if they felt they had to pull away, looking back I was a real mess (in some ways I still am). I had found a new kind of happiness that I felt ashamed to have. I didn’t believe that I deserved to be happy. In my mind I was supposed to be miserable, I was supposed to be in mourning, after all I had just died so there wasn’t really any reason for me to be happy.

I think when we die on the inside that we forget that there’s still the outer shell that has desires and needs. It’s not as apparent when we simple grow out of our old selves, that’s just nature taking it’s designed course. Sometimes we don’t see it right away but if we look back we can say with confidence that we are no longer the same people we used to be. We grow out of clothing and the things we used to receive joy from and all of it seems so normal. When we die it’s a completely different story though. In my experience it’s like having two giant hands take hold of either side of yourself, they count to three and pull you apart at one and a half. It seems like something that should be painful but it happens so suddenly that all you’re left with is the numbness.

In a place that dark you don’t really expect to feel things like relief or happiness. You’re supposed to be hurting and hopefully picking up your parts so you can begin healing. Your mind just wants to stop you from feeling anything so you throw away your lingering thoughts of self preservation and you just indulge in anything and everything that finds itself in front of you. Amidst this cloud of poor judgement I found something I wanted more then just the pain I was inflicting on my body. I wanted to be happy but it felt so wrong to want that. It felt wrong to want to be happy and it felt worse experiencing it. It was as if I was committing the greatest sin imaginable and I couldn’t stop myself from doing so.

I’ve come a long way since those 2 years ago but the feeling of being unworthy of this happiness still lingers. The days between how often I question myself seem to have spread further apart and honestly I don’t know if I should be grateful or fearful. Only time will tell how far these feelings will go but I Love my Happiness and I won’t feel bad about that.