The Fate of Fear

We have nothing to fear but fear itself.

It’s been an extremely hectic week. I can barely keep track of the information flooding through (hmm, note typesorting…) my mind. And it’s… scary. Frightening.

The topic in question is the planning for mental stability; a verbose way of saying “calming wild emotions”. Straining stuff, really. It comprises a total rethink of…

sorry, means I completely change what I think of social intera… talking, communicating and stuff. How I come across.

It’s a volatile issue, even within a solitary feminine mind, which is further exacerbated by the fact that being tired is no better off than being drunk… down to the lazy eye. I’m still surprised I don’t get drunk (… 99% of the time). Thing is, fatigue warps my perception a hell of a lot, and with an existing sleep deficit, the psych investment mandate demands a secure supplier of rest.

So. I’m working on it, with increasing efficiency by the day. And yet… there is no value in what was meant to be said.

Fear is indeed my biggest enemy. The way I was brought up… well… I had a strange childhood. It makes me distrustful. I wouldn’t have said shy until 2011: but quietly reclusive aptly describes me. Let’s say I don’t talk much ;)

With few people to turn to, I find it very, very important that my intentions are clear and… real. Every thought, every opinion, must be as close as effectively possible completely and absolutely sincere. IRL and on the web (while IRL I have a polite, mild mannered reputation at current, it’s not eternal… especially if you’re fatig-runk) I hold myself to eliminate my arguing, condescence, greed and absolutely quash misunderstanding. Why? Seeing my family’s actions karma-ing their social standing blows the benefits of lying, backstabbing and libellious slander completely out of the Universe. Forever.
I don’t intend to repeat their mistakes.

And that means to do so, I’m stamping my entire family’s arguing right out. The buck stops with me, and while I’m at it, I’m after their blame-games too.

That means saying what I mean, not what my fatigue-drunk brain’s hands want. Which means I’m in for a fight… one I can’t win with the mistrust of my own hands that I’ll say something stupid (hence, staying away from alcohol) or creepy (ew, stalkers and awkward nerds).

This stage is typically where parents step – (sorry for the nerdery and babbling rant…) – parents should step in with support, but this all happened because I didn’t trust them in the first place, so I am/was SOO. F*ED.

Ok, so not /really/. I do realise I’m a perfectly capable young lady, but the problem has dated roots, so to speak, which took me a couple weeks to find after that realisation… leading me to make a new one. An oh-so tiny one…

Oh… well… actually… It’s you :)

That’s something I won’t forget. I adamantly refuse to forget it. Your hospitality and kindness are something I am unable to forget.

I can only hope when this is all over, that – [sorry, due to privacy concerns I’ve decided to stem this until later decisions can be made more decisively…] can repay the favour.

Discuss these matters further with the insane lady:

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s