I felt myself begin to break. I felt the stress and I saw the fractures turn into cracks. My mind began to exhibit the strain I struggled to hide from the people I never turn away from. I counted the days until my return to sanity and security, and when the number was up so was mine. Home had deserted me, its comfort has dissipated like the mist on a winter's morning leaving the bite of the cold, and all around me are the bodies of the battle urging me to press on. Has this work been in vain, or am I simply too selfish to give up on a dream I never carried as my own?
As humans we are told we can do anything we want, we are equal to all around us and we must choose our paths. We are told to celebrate our accomplishments as they are what defines us. But if we can all do anything we want, shouldn't we all be doing everything we can? I think that the thing that separates us from the people around us is not our accomplishments, but rather our fears. It is our fears that drive us in a direction because that is all we have left. It is the only way out and the only way in a direction we convince ourselves is forward. But publishing my fears is not what scares me. My failures are the things that I want to keep under wraps, they are the things that I want to keep away from the rest of the world. Because my failures are what show me and everyone around me that not only am I not moving forward, I'm not moving.
Maybe this is my fear.
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