It Begins in Fear


A long time ago, I used to blog about my feelings.

Obviously, since I’m a dude, I’m not supposed to have feelings. At least, I am not supposed to have the feelings I confessed to having. At least, I am not supposed to have those feelings if I am in sound mind.

I still have those posts from Livejournal or from my personal sites. I don’t look at them anymore, but they’re there if I ever want to retread the mental pathways of memory.

A long time ago, I used to talk about my feelings.

The blog was the beginning, or the middle, or the end, but it was part of the self-examination. The blog was just one way to explore and exhume and explain and examine my feelings about my life thus far.

A long time ago, I used to care about my feelings.

They were bad feelings. They were narcissistic, self-centered, obtuse, and even hurtful. I used them, or they used me, to inflict pain on other people. I do not mention this to ask for forgiveness; I think I need the guilt. I mention this informationally, casually, with that detached air I have carefully cultivated.

I became afraid of feeling, over time. My anger had gotten the best of me a few times, and my fists were raised, extended, retracted, lowered. My words, a more elegant and effective weapon, were used more often.

Over time, the people went away, some driven and some drifted, but no new people came to replace them. I’ve become withdrawn, sheltered. I don’t talk a lot, and when I do I always say the wrong things.

I think it’s time to feel again.

I think it’s time to get over my fear of feelings.