I used to be a daredevil. I wasn’t scared of anything or anyone. I did what I wanted to do without regards, whatsoever, to consequences. Call it youth, call it stupidity, but whatever it was, it was there and I couldn’t shake myself off it nor did I even try.
But consequences have a way of getting even and no one, not even the most elusive and most cautious of all perpetrators, could get away with it.. for long. So, my handiwork, most of which were destructive both to myself and other people, caught up with me and I paid the price for my indiscretions.
People pay for their mistakes, but for how long? How many times must a person get hurt in order to make up for the uncountable times he hurt others? I don’t know and I’m afraid to find out. So, I started to live in the abyss of irrational consternation.
Years have passed and I got older and supposedly wiser. But the fire of long ago has been extinguished, never to be relit, or so I say for now. Sometimes, I miss my days of spontaneity and recklessness. There are things I still want to try but wouldn’t and couldn’t. I grew too wary. It’s not necessarily failure I’m afraid of but the idea that I may not have time to rectify a new mistake I might commit for acting on impulse.
Yes, I’m afraid. Though I know I’m not supposed to be, I still am. I’m fighting with teeth and claw but fear always sneaks on me from behind my back and before I know it I’m choked and immobile with fright. I don’t like to feel this way so I fight it.
Maybe someday I’d get myself free from this paralyzing fear. I just wrote it down believing that it would help to talk it out for now.
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