“Do you think that you are less afraid or it’s that you’re more reckless?”
She was worried she’d offended me by asking….
It takes a lot to offend me, a lot to get my nose out of joint. As you may have noticed, I’m big on being honest. So any questions are always welcome. About pretty much anything. I like to know what other people want to know about my situation.
So, never hesitate to ask. There are a few subjects where I prefer to hold my cards close, but not many. And I’ll tell you to bugger off if I don’t want to answer, or, more likely, ignore you completley.
Anyway. In response to Miss Pink’s query, it’s a bit of both. A chicken-and-egg kind of thing.
I’m still afraid. I’m terrified. Of everything. Even going to the post office this morning was an exercise in bravery and self confidence. The rest of my life? Absolutley petrifying.
It was all OK, you see. I spent most of my early twenties being afraif of my life, my adult life, afriad of being alone.
And then I found Tony.
And he made me feel safe.
The rest of my life…. it was still scary, a bit. But I had the love of my life to work with me, to be happy with me… to take care of me, and keep me safe.
And then I lost him.
That fear, of being alone, of what the fuck will I do with the rest of my life, was instensified to the point where it was almost paralysing. If I could have stayed, quaking, sobbing, screaming in hysteria, frozen in time… I would have.
But I didn’t have that choice. Time moves on. I had to pick up and keep going. I had to walk away from my husband’s body. I had to tell my son his father was dead. I had to attend my husband’s funeral.
And all of that was fucking terrifying too.
But I did it.
And once it was done- not because I was particularly brave or strong, but because time is a bitch and it just won’t sit still… once it was done, what was there to be afraid of?
Having to do it again? Surely. But, having never lost anyone close to me before Tony, at least next time I will do it with the knowledge that I can.
So… I have this knowledge that I can do the scariest, most horrible things if I have to. It’s not a particulary nice thing to carry around, this knowledge- it’s lonely, and harsh and ugly, othing sweet or comforting about it.
But I have it.
And, consequently, I’m not as afraid anymore. Of anything.
Which leads onto being more reckless.
Because I’m not so afraid of the consequences anymore. I’m still responsible, and hyper aware (thanks, post traumatic stress disorder) of the consequences of my actions.
I’m just not so afraid of them anymore.
Whatever it may be… will it be any worse than what I’ve already been through?