(no subject)
Today I want to write about fear, about the chokehold it’s had on me for a long time but especially within the past three years. My mom’s terror infused into me since I was a kid - there are bad people out there, don’t trust anyone, no one will defend you if something happens and then being proven right.
Fear has crept alongside me since I was a kid, briefly dispelled during my chaotic early 20s where I dared Zeus to strike me while looking me in the face, for it to creep back up and shroud me with obsessions about dying and something bad happening to me. It crescendoed as a teenager I didn’t know held my neck against the crook of his arm while his friend stole my book bag with no monetary value but that meant so much to me. The grief of my lost journal clings to me bones two years later. I don’t go out at night and when I do, I’m hyper vigilant and ready to fight anyone that comes my way. I’ve shifted my patterns to be at home by sunset and the thought of the days getting shorter, the sunset coming sooner brings a chill to the fear in my bones that descended before I was born to a house of chaos that was ignored by everyone in it.
September means the start of darkness. The new fear mixes with old fear brought by the Old Gods with new fears and trauma of men I don’t know robbing me in the darkness and of women I barely knew scaring me to the point of pavor, a mix of dread and terror. It was terrifying, it was scary, it was bone chilling. Lori and the Unknown Robbers, the events that happened in June but felt like September.
September means lesbian sadness, crushed hope in the name of pretty women that didn’t ultimately want me. Two break ups and a whirlwind trauma bond that lasted exactly a month a year ago. A baseball game gone wrong and a kareoke night that made me swear off drinking and…
September means the start of darkness. September means bracing, hoping this one is better