Vivir con miedo es como vivir a medias
When is fear properly motivated? When is fear healthy?
I realized yesterday that I need to evaluate my feelings of fear very closely.
'Cause really, I'm not as much of a pussy as I was getting so furious at myself for being. Sure, there are things I'm afraid of that I shouldn't be afraid of. But y'know what? I tackle them. Head-on. My motivations may have been deeply, deeply flawed in a few cases, but damnit - I have not shrunk.
I feel naked, sometimes, with all my talking. I don't know why I admit what I admit; especially in those moments when there's no relief in the telling. When I'm just laid bare in my gaping imperfections, all insecurity and open wounds, and there isn't a thing that can be said in response that doesn't sound ungenuine and hollow. When I'm too far gone to comfort.
When I let the part of me that really doesn't care for me very much do all the talking. And lately, it has been amazing how much that part of me has to say.
This morning, mulling over what my internal and external monologues have sounded like over the past few days, I'm pink with fury at myself for listening to any of it.