fearful Soma I distinctly remember the day I learned fear. It was my earliest memory. The fear of being asked to strike you. The fear of my mistake. The fear of your crying. The fear of my mother, raging down upon us like some ascendant lord. The fear of being misunderstood. The fear of punishment. Fear. Shame. Regret. Sorrow. Love. All bile rising to my tongue to be sputtered out in the weak sobs of a four year old. Every memory I have of my childhood is one of fear. Nightmares so bad fear taught me not to sleep. The touch of a dying relative. The big spoon in the kitchen drawer. Choosing the wrong thing and watching your anger. The racing heartbeat of the bird in my hand. The glass shatters on the kitchen floor, and mom is crying again. All of it, to recall, makes me cry. (what doesn't make me cry, though?) All it, apparently my mind finds more tolerable to just forget than to wearily remember anything happening at all. I don't know if there were happy moments. I don't know if there were good days. I don't remember birthdays or summers or the loving embraces that I am sure existed. I remember crying. I remember being afraid. I can find moments where fear slept. Even too, moments where my fear was unfounded. But fear was always there, stirring by my feet like a faithful hound. Quickening my breath. I was twelve when the pastor's wife gave me a copy of a moral story. I read the thing, a bit enraptured by the dramatic setting of it all, but enamored with the protagonist, "Much-Afraid." I dreamt and I whispered in my heart of hearts that god would take my fear from me, but he never did. It was a book, after all. Not for real children like me. My fear twisted, a weed, a thorn, a seed planted deep in my heart – just like the book had said. But there was no gentle saviour to wrench it from my flesh. And so I feared damnation. I'm sorry. I wish I could be better than fear. I wish I could be a normal person, just for long enough to... to I don't know. Make connections. Be kind. Say something. Say anything! I know I'm not the only one who hurts. but I'm always so afraid. 241114 what's it to you? who go blather from