The things which scare me

My intent is not be serious and deep, but to make light. I’m not going to stay true this time around, but it’s my blog and I can do what I want.

I was a facilitator on a challenge course. Something we knew the ins and outs of and held near and dear are the idea of “zones.” First we talk about our comfort zone. It’s pretty well understandable. It’s where we’re comfortable. We don’t have to think about doing these things. for example, in my life, being in my room is a physical comfort zone. I’m completely crazy with wild antics and not afraid to say anything that comes to my mind. Comfort zones are pretty personal. I’m comfortable with many things that aren’t for others, but I know this and can work with it. Do this: cross your arms in front of you. Note whether your left or right is on top. Now put the other arm on top. A little uncomfortable, but not undo-able, right? That’s the Challenge zone.

The Challenge Zone is where things get interesting. It’s where the beliefs you’ve held sometimes are shattered and you learn how to start again. It’s a place I’m oddly comfortable, if you pardon the oxymoron. I like a nice challenge. It’s where one is made. Talking about things scares me. I hate telling people about my inside thoughts and what I’m feeling and what not. I think I’m so screwed up because I never learned how to express myself, but that wasn’t tolerated behavior in my house. I was to fall in line like everything else, except I was never the “fall in line” type.


I have a job. It’s awesome, but part time. I don’t normally get enough hours, but my hours are awesome. I enjoy my work. I don’t love and want to do it for years to come, but for now, it’s good. And now I’ve been hired at the nearby casino. It’s a job that will provide hours and money, but still not enough to live on. It gives me a full time schedule and benefits and everything that sounds wonderful. Why don’t I want it? Why would I rather join the circus or live in a hole than work there? I just want to run and run and run as fast as my feet will take me, which by the way, not very fast. I’m not an avid runner or someone who enjoys running at all. My hours are 10pm to 6am, 6 days a week. I’m never going to see anyone ever. I’d like to have a social life. Or the option to have one. Actually, I’d like a social life, even if only on Wednesdays. I would like to see April and Abby. The kid gets super excited to see me; it’s adorable. I’m getting stressed just thinking about this job and I haven’t even started. That can’t be good. But my parents, and roommates, are super excited for me. It’s a great opportunity. Yeah, a great opportunity to move out on my own because it worked out so well last time. Last time I did, it was all fine for a while, until the roommate/ex lost his shit. Frequently. To the point of verbal abuse. Like hell did I let it get any further. He said that he’d never let it get that far. He wouldn’t hit anyone. That’s not the line, people. It’s the feeling threatened, physically and mentally. It was physically threatening and completely demeaning. Gee, who wouldn’t stay? Oh wait, my mom stayed, but I’m not her. I left. I said I wasn’t going to take it. I didn’t do it in the best way possible, but you know what? I don’t care. I did it. I left. It wasn’t an easy decision or easy to execute or even easy to keep going when I was home. But I haven’t stopped. Frankly, I’ve never been happier to be gone.

But, where might I be going for the weekend? Yeah, the town where he lives, which is a tiny place. Granted with many extra people among the locals and students. I’m going back for the first time. I’ve changed all the things I can- my hair, my clothes, my physical size and endurance. But this scares the shit out of me. So does moving out on my own.

I’m scared of standing up to my parents. I’m scared of telling them the truth of the above situation. I forced them to accept “It was bad,” with little actual avail. My best friend and her dad just accepted it and said I’d talk in my own time. He asked me about it a week ago. I said it straight out. I didn’t see a reason to hide it. I haven’t even told her straight like that, but she knows from things I’ve written. These words don’t fail when the ones that come from my mouth do.

I’m scared of losing her. We’ve been friends for 9 years and have fought, screamed, yelled, argued, laughed, gotten lost, sang together. There’s been more good times than bad, but in all reality she’s the person to put me in my place when I need to be put into my place. “You’re being a bitch!” “I’m in pain and stressing isn’t helping this situation!” In less than three minutes we were okay with each other again. Yesterday she informed me that I never give a guy more than about 5 seconds, if that. Not entirely true, but those people I gave attention to were usually when I was drunk and horny so there’s that. Or I was in desperate need of some sort of assistance, such as food while on crutches. My hands were a bit occupied and I was still hungry. I met someone and everyone seems to approve, which is good because the first person to object thinks it’s good. So I hope it works out. I could use a good man in my life. My life has never had a great male figure. I’ve had the absentee, alcoholic, and advantageous ones. My track record is not one to be proud of.

I’m scared of screwing things up before they begin. I’m scared of being an idiot. I’m scared of bringing my less than awesome past in. I’m scared of getting too close. I’m scared of getting hurt. I’m scared of opening myself up and letting anyone in. I’m scared of people knowing my fears. I’m scared of being open to sex again. I’m scared of everything?

I’m scared of going back to the emotional state I was in. I’m scared of being really depressed again. I’m scared of people finding out about my depression. I’m certainly scared of being suicidal again and trust me, I was damn suicidal in the interim between my awareness of the abusive situation and when I actually left. My parents thought I should stick it out. That I agreed to live there and everything and I need to fulfill my commitments. Hey mom, when I say something, I mean it, unlike you.

And I am damn scared of being stuck in this town. It’s not great or fantastic. It’s an okay place, I guess. It’s a bit like Newark in my opinion, but further from a place where things actually happen. It’s where I grew up, but not where I need to stay. There’s life outside of here.

I’m tired and going to bed. I hope I didn’t ramble on too much.


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