I fear so much being afraid, I fear I’ll defy myself touching this fear to know what it is, and since they all grow from fear itself, nothingness, inexistence and inertia take hold of my brains, arms and legs, pressing my heart to stop beating. I fear being unable. I fear I’m able. I’m afraid to start. Ugh, what a sook. I’m afraid of what fossets I’m about to open. I fear the end. I’m afraid I’ll flee and give up. I fear being mediocre. I fear I’ll fail and betray what I’ve weaved into dreams, because nothing do natural should make me feel trapped. In order to break free, only doing seems to be the answer – and I do – I do it relentlessly whe fear strikes hard, stomping loud. I stop at nothing and it still haunts me. Am I driven by fear? I move faster away from it.
Inclusively, breaking out in the beginning of the healing process, when I see myself as a newborn project into a new bubble, like a bent river to another riverbend. All the while I run fast from fear by overcompensating on work thus breaking out from mediocrity’s mental confinement.
Mediocrity is a trap I often ignored and fell into, getting stuck in a rutt I would exhaust myself trying to climb out of, much like a quicksand, overhelmed with confusion, soaked and heavy, losing hope, burying myself further down.