Fear-My biography

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Non-Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
This is something I wrote about myself...caution, read at your own risk...it is not pretty.

Submitted: September 15, 2008

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Submitted: September 15, 2008



Fear, what is fear? Honestly, how would anybody describe fear? Would fear be the fear of a snake's bite, or the fear of falling off a cliff? For some of us, this is fear. As for me, fear is the crack of a whip. When I was three years old, my biological father beat me with a horsewhip. I had done something wrong, but I did not know any better at the time. All I remember is holding onto a tree for dear life and feeling pain (sheer, and unimaginable). As the blood drained from my body, I felt weak, and the next thing I knew, I am in a room. It had happened before, but this was the only time I can seem to remember. 

This hurts, although it now is just a memory. I think that, for some reason, the pain never ceases; rather, it continues until death. Pain can never disappear it can soften a little with time, but the fear is always there. My father was a six-foot giant. I think that was what I feared the most. Tears ease the pain just a little bit, but if it ever goes away, I shall count it a miracle. Tears seemed the only resolution at the time. I thought that I would only cry for the rest of my life. As I continued to cry, I found a way out. As I talked with the psychiatrist, I told her what was going on. She called the health department and told them.

After this incident, the Health Department sent me to a foster home. Fortunately for me, foster parents cannot whip anybody. I spent three more years of my life switching from house to house. The first year James and I lived with the Brady family. My brother and I both lived together except for one year, when he and I were separated. He went to a house with six boys, and I went to live with a woman. This was the second year that we were in a foster home. I believe that the separation was the hardest part of our lives. The next year was by far one of the most exciting. We went to live with the Endicotts; they were the best foster family of all. On June 10, 1994, we went to Candace and Harold Duck's home to live with them until we turned 18. I was later told that the Endicotts had been willing to adopt us, if the state of Texas had not let Aunt Candace and Uncle Skipp take us.

It seems that no matter what happens, the scars of my past always open when they should not. Most of the time, I smile through the tears, and think will the sun ever shine again? When I feel no more pain, I will know that the Lord has taken me to be with him. Until that day, I will always think of today, not tomorrow or the past.

My fear has kept me from screaming at people. It has also kept me from fighting for no reason at all. Sometimes it has kept me from being closer to more than one person. Most of the time, my heart has made me believe that if I get too close to somebody, that person will betray me. I know that this is a very odd way of saying that sometimes I feel like I cannot trust anybody. That is why I am so shy around people, whom I do not know very well. I try not to do that to teachers, or other adults, because it is not fair to push them away for no reason.

When my great-grandmother died, I became afraid, and I could not even look at the body. It felt so eerie, to stand there, hear nothingness, feel fear, and see pain. This was a pain that I could not feel. I seemed to be the strong one, never crying, never screaming and, as the family looked on stone-faced in the situation. It felt so weird to sleep and walk in an empty house that used to be Mamaw Hassie's. I threw myself into a kaleidoscope of a life, mixed up in every way. I became involved in hate, pain, fear, and anything that kept me away from the tears on my aunt's face. My aunt became so sad, and I was in my own little world, floating along, and not worrying about anything. I wanted to help, but I could barely keep my grades above a "C." As I watched the family cry, I knew that I could never feel that way, because I had hardened my heart to all emotions and feelings of negativity.

Two weeks later, on that fateful January morning, my Grandmother died. Considering the fact I had been closer to Memaw than Mamaw, I felt more pain. Although I had hardened by becoming stone cold to all feeling of pain, I shed one tear at this news. It felt as though my world was ripping apart, and I could not catch the falling pieces.

Two years before, my Uncle Bobby was diagnosed with Lyme's Disease. A week earlier, my Uncle Mike became a resident in the hospital with a heart attack. When Memaw died, he had been re-admitted and did not know until after his by-pass that she was gone. He went to the funeral, and it has been months since then, but it feels like minutes.

I do not know what will happen from this day forward, but I am completely trusting God to guide me through the treacherous, harsh, and unwilling days ahead. I know that one of these days, I will no longer feel fear, as I have known, but I will feel joy. I understand that yes, these things are all in the past, and I need to move on, but everyone knows as well as I do that no matter how hard we try, we will never forget our pasts. I am saying this to everyone, not to scare anybody. Only to make people realize that, yes, things in this world are horrible. I also say this because there will be many times when somebody can shout for joy, and so many more when someone will cry in pain. Although I have all the right in the world to cry, and be depressed, I realize that if I had done that earlier, I would never have experienced joy. Joy and fear are intertwined; I say this because, if somebody isn't afraid of something then they will never know what it's like to feel joy. I am not trying to say that everybody has to make themselves afraid of something, just that we all are afraid at least once in our lives.

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