Do You Know The Fear?

Do you know the true fear?  

The kind that you see in the eyes of a person who believes in that which is not real?  

When they see things you do not. Hear  stories that you can not recall. Imagine  scenarios which seem impossible, yet true to them. 

The fear is palatable. 

Theirs. 

Yours. 

You may say they are delusional or paranoid; but they are sure that their world is true. 

Is it?  

After all, who am I to judge? 

Me:  The girl crippled with anxiety and panic.  Migraine headaches and the inability to let go or to love anyone with great determination except her dog. 

Who is to determine which of you is right or wrong – it may be that both of you are equal parts insane

Thus ensues the inevitable avalanche that you attempt to stop with your bare hands. Knuckles raw and bloody, bone showing through – it is a fruitless fight. 

There is nobody to help you because the fear is a secret. 

The fear is a secret that you’ve been sworn to keep – after all, who would believe you?  Who is there that can be trusted on the chance that the paranoia is, indeed, real?

If you let the secret out then you become part of the fear

That is when you know true fear. 

Living and loving a person who has the fear is impossible to ignore, no matter how hard you may try. Pretend it doesn’t exist; close your eyes and don’t say anything contrary – all in an effort to keep the peace. 

It is when the fear expands into a monster that it can no longer be dismissed. Call his doctor, be dismissed. His brother, diminished and insulted. 

Ignored

Blamed on anything but the truth: that the fears are his reality turned into mine. 

 

There is little to no sleep for me tonight, as I will stay awake and worry.

Worry: 

About him, what tomorrow holds, what the next month holds and doing my best not to get physically sick. 

It is my way. 
He will sleep

• Tomorrow having no idea of my weary exhaustion. 

• Impatient with my feelings, lack of attention or exuberance in simple tasks. 

• I will do my best to quell my anger or resentment; it is not his fault that I stay awake with worry. 

Alas, I lay here on the sofa, my heart beating too fast, head pounding, stomach in knots and praying for sleep. 

Because I love him more than myself

Advertisements

Please leave your comments here:

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s