Silly Fears
The sunshine is my friend today and it’s still interesting to me how this isn’t always the case. I go through periods when I don’t want to see the light. During these times, my blinds don’t shut tightly enough in my bedroom and I find myself feeling sensitive to every thought sent my way. Doom scrolling and consuming any kind of media don’t help but I do it anyway. Even my thoughts can be too much.
My sister tells me I really need to “break the seal” on reading my work for others. We went to an open mic last Friday night, and listening to others express themselves was fulfilling. I love this practice of feeling when I should. Open mics are for feeling, and I think I feel that I have this deep fear of not being understood. I also fear not being good. I fear silence when I so badly want praise. I’m afraid of my reaction to rejection, of being childish and swearing off reading poetry for the rest of my forever (I’m extremely dramatic, I know.)
My fears are silly. Valid as fuck, but so silly. I wish my God complex would kick in when I asked it to.
Someone wrote to me recently saying I was good at writing at length (not their words verbatim, but close enough) and it took me aback. I read through a lot of older entries on this blog (which will turn a year old this week, wow!) and it gave me hope that I’ll find my voice once again. These last few days/weeks/months/?? have left me feeling a bit out of sorts, but still myself. You know how oil and water separate? I think someone shook my jar of oil and water, and I’m beginning to settle back into the separation.