Dating : Anchors.

A short story.

I always question morality. My morality, as well as the virtue of others. I spend a lot of time asking things until my guilt overwhelms me, and in a desperate attempt to make myself feel better, I’ll lie. I’ll lie to myself. It wasn’t effortless admitting this. Ever since I can remember, I have always looked down on people who lie to themselves. I guess it’s natural to dislike people who remind you of your own flaws. Sometimes, I’ll lie to others. I’ll lie to others when I’m too afraid of the impact the truth will have. I’m not as brave as I let on. In fact, I’m deeply submerged in my own fears. I’m underwater, distressed by my fevers. The fevers that keep me awake at night. We all have fevers, some more than others.

There are a lot of things that keep me up at night. There are times, where I wish I could break down every aspect of me and completely confide in someone. I try. But I don’t. I can’t really pinpoint what exactly holds me back. Lack of trust, experience with betrayal, the way my lovely family decided to raise me? Was it just that I was naturally misanthropic? Or was it how tightly and ever so stubbornly I clung to my pride… Sometimes I think I’ll always be like this, half-closed, half unknown, half there and half somewhere else…hiding underwater. I have dreams where I’m taking a shower, fully clothed, always clothed. Too afraid to be naked, unprotected.

I have dreams where I’m underwater. My feet give up and stop kicking. My clothes are dense, soaked, layered, pulling me deeper underwater. I keep contemplating drowning. As I’m sinking further down, panic inundates me. I’m slowly losing air until holding my breath becomes nearly impossible. Throughout sickening dread, a moment of profound clarity enlightens me. I realize that I must take off my clothes, the clothes that were supposed to protect me, the fabric anchors, very cleverly disguised anchors. If I let go of my armor and release my body from tension, if I withdraw from the fight, my body will float. If I release, then I might have a chance. So I try. No, I don’t try; I do. I do with the last of me. I rip off my anchors, but I’m not strong enough. Effort consoles me. Now my arms start trembling. I’m sinking faster now.

The water gets colder, freezing every molecule inside me. When my body is half frozen, I surrender. At that moment, I begin to see everything for what it really is. Letting go is not surrendering. Letting go is fighting. For the longest time, I have misunderstood the true meaning of strength. In this dream, this understanding comes too late. I continue to freeze, I continue to sink, I continue to drown, I continue to surrender to my fears, to my fevers, and even when I wake up from this nightmare, I still continue. “It’s just a phase,” I tell myself. But it’s not. Its just, yet again, another fabric anchor.

I can never seem to decide whether I should release into the unknown or to capitulate to the inevitable. Should I be vulnerable and proud or guarded with pride? I ponder yet never decide. Simultaneously, I’m aware that not making a decision is a decision in itself. Realizing and understanding is one thing, putting it into action, now that’s a whole other thing. It’s something. Something better than nothing.

Be most afraid of yourself. We are our own undoing…in far more ways than you can possibly imagine.

The end.