I reach across the sheets to make sure you’re still there. Your nighttime habit of coming to bed late leaves me scared of being forgotten, deep into the night. The shallow breaths of sleep, for me, are interrupted by the worry that something’s wrong, and so I wake and check, continually.
They say it’s part of my OCD. Compulsive checking way into the night, but I know that’s only partly true. Compulsive, yes. Obsessive – perhaps, but not disordered. Not in the least. There is an order to my madness. A yearning to be close to you – to feel the heat rising off your body. So, I lie in bed, night after night, waiting for the hours to tick by until you join me.
Photo Credit: DeanPeterson via Compfight cc
I am a writer. I am brave. I am beautiful. I am scared. I am not fearless. Anyone who says so is a liar. The first step towards growth is admitting there is fear, admitting you are scared. But I can stay here, in this fear, or I can step forward. I may drag fear with me-the path out could be longer than I’d like to imagine, but at least I’d be moving forward and not dismally backwards, or tragically stagnant.
People are scared. They are scared shitless. WE can make this for something. We can create good from this. Give it back. Give all of it back. All the fear you feel, all the bravery you’ve known, all the love that creates, take that up inside you and pour it back out. So people know they are not alone.