Sometimes, I think I delay my own success because I am more familiar with the taste of failure. Sometimes, I think I’m more comfortable with the idea of losing than winning. I never settled when it came to him, but everything else I compromise on because having it all within my grasp scares me more than you know. The nightmares are my way of living in the past. I hate myself for a thousand different reasons, but the main one is my past should be a lesson, one day’s assignments. Not a curriculum. Not a degree of study.
I dwell where the monsters breathe fire because I feel safer putting one foot in front of another rather than planning a future with someone who may desert me. I’m scared of the promise the future holds. What happens after the happily ever after, and why am I so scared of it? I smile, and it’s authentic, but for all my talk of bravery, I’m a coward at heart.
Getting a razor blade held at my throat was nothing. Walking away from the car that hit me was just my nature. Getting up going after my rape? Common sense. But the happily ever after and the promises of forever, fulfilling dreams I’ve had since I was a little girl? That requires guts.
And I just don’t think I am brave enough. Cause it’s always been easier to bury my head in the sand.