Fear

Sharks scare me so bad my bone marrow freezes, my spine locks and vertebrae fuse together.

I am not trying to be cute when I admit that my friends and I recently took the time to watch Sharkweek one evening. I decided to face my fear, look into the eyes of evil, and stand anew, a warrior who has conquered the monster of fear.

I had nightmares.

The whole night's sleep was draped in visions of sharks swarming, chasing, and feasting.

I faced my fear but my fear remained resolute still.

God willing I will never see a shark in the flesh, apart from when he and I are separated by thick enough glass that all the desire and hunger in the world will not be enough for him to be able to break it. The fear remains and keeps me from waters and from watching Sharkweeks.

Sharks, you do not frighten me so much because in the darkness of my room you cannot harm me. You remain in your world and I in mine.

As I lay safe and sound from all the evils of the world of sharks there is another fear that lurks in my heart, that attacks me only when I'm alone. Only when I feel the most safe.

This fear, I would gladly exchange all the sharks in the world for this darkness.

It is the voice late at night.

The voice that challenges everything I am.

The voice that examines and criticizes and calls every imperfection to mind.

Every imperfection so I can think on them over, and over, and over again.

And that voice, when all other voices have been silences, whispers to me the thought.

The thought that makes me long for the company of Jaws himself to distract from the hurt.

The thought is this: what if all that I was ever good at was lying?

Have I fabricated fictions to perpetuate personas that create a caricature that would be me.

What if the only thing I was good at was pretending to be something, anything other than what I value most: Honest.

It seems foolish to escape swimming with sharks only to lay in the grass with snakes.

God help me!