How much longer will the fear last? I’m sick and tired of being sick and tired. I’m exhausted from the constant hype of panic and anxiety. I’m tired of worrying all the time. I’m tired of stressing over things not going as planned. I’m tired of plans constantly changing. I’m tired of people not honoring their promises. I’m tired of my hopes rising, only to fall flat on my face. How much longer do I need to be afraid of everything? Especially failure. How do I get over the fear of failure? This feeling is ridiculous and unnecessary and unwelcome. I want to be normal, loving, hopeful and optimistic. But the constant self-beratement isn’t making things any easier for me. It used to be a voice talking to me, a male voice, who was mean and degrading. But now it’s my voice. It’s me. I’m scared of myself.
I can’t remember when I became scared of myself, at what age or where I was when it happened. But I stopped taking risks. I stopped having fun. I stopped hoping for a bright future. I think I’m most scared of my potential. What I could be, what I could become. Something more in this life, other than a wife and a mother. I love writing, but do I want to do it professionally, I don’t know. Would I be good at it? Sure! But I write for me, for my peace of mind, for my entertainment, for my digital memories. One day my kids will read all that I’ve left behind and I hope they’re proud of most of it. Especially when I write about how they’re my proudest accomplishment. Even though they’re noisy pains-in-the-butt. I love em for forever.
One of my scariest moments happened last year. I was scared of my own bathroom. I literally thought it was trying to kill me. I kid you not, I was deathly afraid of being in there alone, Derrick would have to sit on the toilet while I shower so he could fight off whatever was trying to kill me. The water would turn scalding hot as I put my face in the stream. The shower head would jump out of the holder and hit me in the head or in the face. I sipped a few times. The shower curtain tried to smother me. There were poisonous spiders in the bathroom every time I went in there. I’ve cut my foot, my hand and broke numerous nails in the bathroom. And I lose handfuls of hair. I thought someone put Nair in my shampoo bottle at one point, I was so paranoid.
I used to be such a smart student. So talented and bright. I had amazingly good grades, was constantly on Honor Roll and brought home perfect Report Cards. I loved school and my teachers and the school work. I loved learning. But somewhere along the way a fear built up in me and I hid from everything. First it started with my school work, I began getting intimated by things. My grades reflected it. I couldn’t handle my classes anymore. I was a sophomore in advanced Spanish 3 and I had no clue what I was doing, but with the last name Fernandez, you better know Spanish. I failed a lot of my classes because they were too hard, but I was afraid to speak up, I didn’t want to disappoint anyone. Then eventually I began skipping a class and taking a double lunch. When I started getting F’s in all my classes I just stopped coming to school all together. I was humiliated that I couldn’t keep up with all the advanced classes I’d work so hard to get into. At 27 years old, I finally graduated from High School and got my diploma. Fear made me take all those years and I missed out on a lot, like prom, grad night, walking at graduation and getting a real diploma.
I have irrational fears about everyday situations too. Other than my bathroom killing me. I have a fear of a stray bullet coming through my window and hitting me in the head. I have a fear of cars hoping the curb and hitting me as I’m running. I have a fear that the food I order while out with my husband is poisoned. I have a fear of being bitten by a shark, so much so I refuse to step foot in the ocean and I’m from California! I have a fear of a pair of scissors going through my eye because my husband likes to walk around twirling them on his fingers. I have a fear of an earthquake shaking the ceiling fan loose and it killing me. I have a fear of slipping in the kitchen and hitting my head on the counter and dying. And so many more fears that constantly run through my head on a daily basis. I’m constantly in fear about being hurt and dying. I’m constantly thinking about my death. How, when, where and why. I can’t turn it off and it’s ridiculously frustrating.
So, does the paranoia ever end? Does the fear ever go away?
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