So I started a “new” blog, with the intent to start writing more. That was nearly three months ago now, and I still haven’t actually posted anything new.


I’m afraid of putting myself out there again.

I’m afraid of unnecessarily repeating myself in these posts.

I’m afraid that people will give me well-meaning advice that I will either have to find an excuse not to follow, or ignore and then feel guilty about yet another thing I’m not doing.

I’m afraid because I have nobody to talk to. I have plenty of people who will offer to talk, but I have nobody to talk to. Not anyone that I can trust with my whole self.

I’m afraid that when people do try to break through to me, I deflect and obfuscate because I wasn’t ready to open up, but when I finally am, they’ve given up or moved on.

I’m afraid that nobody trusts me with their whole self, because I don’t know the proper things to do or say if they did.

I’m afraid that people who do care will care for a minute, before their other priorities reassert themselves, and unless I keep putting all of myself on display, day after day, I become forgotten, less and less of a thought.

I’m afraid because some of the people I care most about care less about me than I had thought.

I’m afraid because recently I had to sever a long-term (non-romantic) toxic relationship, and, while it was necessary for both parties involved, it still hurts.

I’m afraid because I’ve never been diagnosed with any mental anything, but obviously something’s going on here, but I literally can’t afford to seek professional help, at least not without being unable to live on my own. Do I need it? Can’t I just live? Some days I can. All days I can.

I’m afraid because I don’t know how much of my isolation is mental, and how much is real.

I’m afraid of losing people. Not due to anything dramatic, but just time’s natural drift and people growing, and outgrowing, me.

I’m afraid of being unable to connect with new friends, if they do crop up. I’ve been trying for the past few years, but almost nothing has gotten past the superficial and easily discarded (which often ends up happening).

I’m afraid of voicing controversial opinions, but not having the energy to defend them properly, so they remain unsaid.

I’m afraid of starting new hobbies for/with people I think I have things in common with, only for them to not care.

I’m afraid that I actually have a good life but find it difficult to recognize on an emotional level.

I’m afraid of ending up like my dad, who had so effectively severed his close personal ties that he was dead, alone, in his apartment, for two weeks before anybody even noticed. (For the record, I don’t think I’ll be dying anytime soon, I just don’t want to be in the situation where if suddenly I did die, nobody would notice for so long.)

I’m afraid I’m wasting my potential. I studied music for basically thirty years but was unable to turn it into a career because of a lack of self-promotion, support, and confidence, and now I find it a daunting task to even just fool around with songwriting for fun.

I’m afraid of creating expectations I prove unable to live up to.

I’m afraid that people will give me well-meaning advice that I will either have to find an excuse not to follow, or ignore and then feel guilty about yet another thing I’m not doing. Yes, I know I already said this one.

I’m afraid of being unable to fix these problems by myself, while also acknowledging that it would be unfair to ask anyone for help, because apparently like 98% of the population of everyone has mental health diagnoses anyway, so it’s not like I’m a special case, even if I had a specific diagnosis.

I’m afraid that I’ve trained myself to not care about so much just to survive, that I don’t know what’s worth caring about anymore.

I’m afraid of posting this.

I’m afraid that, when I do, most people will care for a day, some for a few weeks, and within a month most will have forgotten about it unless I keep posting about it.

I’m afraid I’m repeating myself again.

Fear is something I’ve learned to live with. One of the side effects of living alone is losing the ability to trust your instincts when it comes to your relationships with others, because nobody is around to ground you. So these fears, most of which I’ve always lived with, sometimes become exaggerated or take irrational turns, until I don’t know which are legitimate or not.

Every day I put this heart necklace on (the one that’s the icon for this website). Even days when I shouldn’t have it in the open (like when I’m at work) I still have it there underneath. It’s become more than just a symbol of something I learned from a disastrous camping trip and a video game. It’s become a symbol of hope. It’s become something that stays with me. It fights back against this fear. Not just once or twice. Not just monthly, or weekly, but daily.

It reminds me I’m worthy of love. Every day.

It reminds me that I can make mistakes and not have to lose everything good I’ve worked on so far. Every day.

It reminds me that when some good things leave my life, other good things can enter.

It reminds me that there are people who love me too, and there are people who reach out to me. They may not be doing it right now, but that doesn’t mean they don’t want to.

It helps ground me. When I start down a self-destructive path, I can feel it and think about what it stands for. It’s not a religious thing, but it is a spiritual thing.

Some days it’s not enough. But every day it’s something.

And something is better than nothing.

My brain says, “Fear!” But my heart says,


2 thoughts on “Afraid

  1. Pingback: Crazy Bachelor | Jeff's New Blog

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