A Monologue Writ in October...

It’s not the big fears that get to you.  No.  It’s the little ones, the small anxieties that creep in, so subtly you don’t even notice them.  The little fears that rule your life, controlling your mind form the shadowy depths of your subconscious, tainting every moment, paralyzing your will, drowning you in inaction, because you’re so afraid of failing or looking stupid or someone not loving you or being laughed at or ridiculed or attacked.  The big fears, they’re over quick, really.  They may have aftereffects, they may be more intense and leave you drained, but the little fears, no, they rule your life, they make it impossible for you to do anything, and because they’re so small you don’t notice them at first, and then, by the time you do they’re so entrenched it’s next to impossible to make any headway against them.  If you even notice them at all.  It’s so easy, really, not to even know they are there.  It’s so easy to become accustomed to the small tightness around your heart, the faint clench of your jaw and the eternal smudge of despair lodged in the pit of your stomach.  And the worst of it is, the absolute worst thing about the little fears and especially the fear of the unknown…is that suicide isn’t a viable option.  You can’t even escape in death, because the fear of what mother fucking dreams, no NIGHTMARES may come when we have shuffled off this rotten, stinking hell that they call the mortal coil…keeps you here, and makes you a slave to the fears you know, rather than find release…because there is no way to know what comes after death.  None.  You can have faith and you can believe, but you can’t KNOW.  And if you don’t know, well, then it’s not likely you’ll be brave enough to take that risk.  And so you go on, living in hell, slave to yourself because some jackass, somewhere back in your childhood scared you…and now you’re in it so deep you may never get out…and you’re afraid of what might happen if you ever do so you don’t…even…try.