Look to what you’re afraid of, Silver, to learn where you can grow.
© http://www.tut.com ®
And then go there and you’ll see, Silver, that it was just another shade of me.
I’ve talked previously about my fears as a writer. I don’t often talk about my “real life” fears. One, I don’t have too many. Spiders, mice, snakes, small spaces, the dark, heights, water, et cetera et cetera et cetera. Nope. None of those worry me. While I’m not ready for it, death is high on the list, nor is pain or illness. Don’t want either of those, but if something happens, I’ll deal. I don’t sit around worrying about it.
Maybe it’s because I’m doing this intense reread of JD Robb’s In Death books but interestingly enough, I’m finding certain…similarities between Eve Dallas and myself. She blocked out her early childhood, unaware of who her biological parents were. I was adopted as a baby. We both suffer PTSD. We both had trouble…connecting with people in meaningful relationships. And at the root of both of our issues was the need to be loved, while not really sure how to love back. Eve is working through her issues. I already have, for the most part.
I don’t mean for this post to be a psychological probe, nor did I mean for it to garner <3<3<3 and ❀❀❀ in the comments. I bring it up because I've been thinking about a lot of things of late. April 19th is the 20th anniversary of the Murrah Bombing, And my dad has been gone almost 20 years, too. I've been thinking about being afraid. And growing up. The Universe and whatever power directs it. And does anyone ever really have the answer? I certainly don't. So I think about it, like now. *wanders off*