Feel The Fear
Winning Entry by KMaidmarion
Your Fear Response
You come to me desperate,
desperate for help,
help to eradicate your fear,
You speak, breathless,
tears sting
'put me to sleep' you say,
'make this fear stop,
make it go away'
But it’s a fallacy,
this notion
of magic,
of hypnotic sleep,
of losing control
You won’t...
there is nothing to fear
I will help you
to rewind your phobia,
I'll help you
to re-frame your future,
perfect,
I will guide you in hypnotic trance
but first you must listen,
first,
you must understand
Your Hippocampus
is like a library,
a library of templates
on overcrowded shelves,
and those templates,
tell tales
of fear
and phobia
Arachnaphobia...
Bacteriophobia...
Cacophobia...
A go-to,
historical record
an hysteria-fuelled record
of your
panic attack
Previous encounters
stuck
in emotional angst,
Memories
left unprocessed
in REM sleep.
With a bucket, full,
dreams metaphorical or otherwise,
are unable
to morph emotion
into narrative control.
Your Hypothalamus,
shocked
into action,
A fear response
an adrenaline surge
sweats, shakes and stomach saults,
your heart a xylophone
against your ribs,
A second
split with a decision
to fight or to flee,
Neither, always necessary
but your primitive brain
steps up to protect
you.
Sounds familiar?
Your phobia
starts with a thought,
a thought you can control,
Think...
intellectually
You know, not everyone has Vestiphobia
If we did,
we'd all be naked.
So change your perspective
choose your thoughts with care,
choose
with knowledge of their power,
the power to hold you back
or to set you free
and with that freedom,
your library is emptied
your bucket of stress,
is less,
Your emotional response
becomes a narrative
A story to tell,
perhaps you'll laugh
perhaps you'll cry
perhaps you'll dance
but you’ll definitely
enjoy
being fearless
You come to me desperate,
desperate for help,
help to eradicate your fear,
You speak, breathless,
tears sting
'put me to sleep' you say,
'make this fear stop,
make it go away'
But it’s a fallacy,
this notion
of magic,
of hypnotic sleep,
of losing control
You won’t...
there is nothing to fear
I will help you
to rewind your phobia,
I'll help you
to re-frame your future,
perfect,
I will guide you in hypnotic trance
but first you must listen,
first,
you must understand
Your Hippocampus
is like a library,
a library of templates
on overcrowded shelves,
and those templates,
tell tales
of fear
and phobia
Arachnaphobia...
Bacteriophobia...
Cacophobia...
A go-to,
historical record
an hysteria-fuelled record
of your
panic attack
Previous encounters
stuck
in emotional angst,
Memories
left unprocessed
in REM sleep.
With a bucket, full,
dreams metaphorical or otherwise,
are unable
to morph emotion
into narrative control.
Your Hypothalamus,
shocked
into action,
A fear response
an adrenaline surge
sweats, shakes and stomach saults,
your heart a xylophone
against your ribs,
A second
split with a decision
to fight or to flee,
Neither, always necessary
but your primitive brain
steps up to protect
you.
Sounds familiar?
Your phobia
starts with a thought,
a thought you can control,
Think...
intellectually
You know, not everyone has Vestiphobia
If we did,
we'd all be naked.
So change your perspective
choose your thoughts with care,
choose
with knowledge of their power,
the power to hold you back
or to set you free
and with that freedom,
your library is emptied
your bucket of stress,
is less,
Your emotional response
becomes a narrative
A story to tell,
perhaps you'll laugh
perhaps you'll cry
perhaps you'll dance
but you’ll definitely
enjoy
being fearless
Featured Entry by safemouse
An essay
I really don’t have anything to say about fear, except try to live your life fearlessly. That might seem counter-intuitive, given that fear is apparently a self-defense mechanism, but when you think about it most of what we are afraid of is nothing to be afraid of. A spider can’t hurt us, talking to a stranger should actually be good for us, entering a short story competition is a pretty anonymous activity, should someone give your fledgling effort some tough love. So why should it hurt? These things only hurt us if we give them permission to.
For the most part, we have nothing to fear but fear itself. If you let your fears rule your life so many opportunities will be lost. It will diminish your life and the lives of those around you. Back to the Future is predicated on the idea that life is about key moments but in fact it's about every moment. It's about how much water you put in the kettle, how well you floss your teeth, how nice you were to the broadband complaints department. It all adds up and you have to stay focused on the next step, but you can only really do that if a simple switch inside you is in the correct position.
So find a quiet space somewhere and go inside yourself. Figure out what you are afraid of. You have the power to turn the dial down on that fear. That is the nature of fear. Its tether is purely psychological. There is no horse power, or torque in fear. It is an abstract, invisible thing that must harness your own power and control you by suggestion. But for how long?
There may come a time when staying in one's comfort zone becomes less preferable to going outside it. This could manifest as a soldier who is no longer willing to dodge bullets or duck for cover and finds peace in that unwillingness. A shy virgin who finally starts asking girls out. A nervous commuter who decides to take that dodgy short cut home. And if he's mugged? So what. It will be an experience.
Sadly, by the time you are forced to surrender valuable time has often been lost. But you might ask, how do you strike the right balance, between bravery and masochism? What if that commuter is a woman who doesn't want to be raped? Fear is an evolutionary trait, surely. Fear is there for our benefit, surely.
Your body-your heart-a little voice inside- call it what you will. Something is telling you all the time what it feels comfortable with. What it thinks you should do. And it has your best interests at heart. Often you are avoiding what you think are uncomfortable situations when actually your heart is telling you you'll feel worse if you avoid them. It's like that feeling you have when you have some chore you really need to get out the way and you decide to play on your smartphone instead. That horrible gnawing you get when you procrastinate is you fighting yourself. But you do it all the time in less obvious ways.
I have a copy of 'Feel the fear and do it anyway' on my bookshelf. I skimmed a few pages and thought, 'Yeah, I get the idea. My problem is not theory, but practice.' As is the case with so many self-help books everything you need to know is in the title. You accept the fact that there is going to be a certain amount of discomfort if you are the first to hit the dancefloor but you embrace it because of the rewards it will bring.
I am inspired by the title of that book and have often thought about it. Well, perhaps I will be inpsired, when I act upon it. There is something very powerful about NOT reading a book about overcoming fear because reading is a form of procrastination. People can easily fall in love with ideas and think that they need to read just one more book to learn how to be a better person. But the fact is that well read people are not necessarily the better for it.
Perhaps this writing has some value if you can identify a fear you have today and start to overcome it after reading this.
I really don’t have anything to say about fear, except try to live your life fearlessly. That might seem counter-intuitive, given that fear is apparently a self-defense mechanism, but when you think about it most of what we are afraid of is nothing to be afraid of. A spider can’t hurt us, talking to a stranger should actually be good for us, entering a short story competition is a pretty anonymous activity, should someone give your fledgling effort some tough love. So why should it hurt? These things only hurt us if we give them permission to.
For the most part, we have nothing to fear but fear itself. If you let your fears rule your life so many opportunities will be lost. It will diminish your life and the lives of those around you. Back to the Future is predicated on the idea that life is about key moments but in fact it's about every moment. It's about how much water you put in the kettle, how well you floss your teeth, how nice you were to the broadband complaints department. It all adds up and you have to stay focused on the next step, but you can only really do that if a simple switch inside you is in the correct position.
So find a quiet space somewhere and go inside yourself. Figure out what you are afraid of. You have the power to turn the dial down on that fear. That is the nature of fear. Its tether is purely psychological. There is no horse power, or torque in fear. It is an abstract, invisible thing that must harness your own power and control you by suggestion. But for how long?
There may come a time when staying in one's comfort zone becomes less preferable to going outside it. This could manifest as a soldier who is no longer willing to dodge bullets or duck for cover and finds peace in that unwillingness. A shy virgin who finally starts asking girls out. A nervous commuter who decides to take that dodgy short cut home. And if he's mugged? So what. It will be an experience.
Sadly, by the time you are forced to surrender valuable time has often been lost. But you might ask, how do you strike the right balance, between bravery and masochism? What if that commuter is a woman who doesn't want to be raped? Fear is an evolutionary trait, surely. Fear is there for our benefit, surely.
Your body-your heart-a little voice inside- call it what you will. Something is telling you all the time what it feels comfortable with. What it thinks you should do. And it has your best interests at heart. Often you are avoiding what you think are uncomfortable situations when actually your heart is telling you you'll feel worse if you avoid them. It's like that feeling you have when you have some chore you really need to get out the way and you decide to play on your smartphone instead. That horrible gnawing you get when you procrastinate is you fighting yourself. But you do it all the time in less obvious ways.
I have a copy of 'Feel the fear and do it anyway' on my bookshelf. I skimmed a few pages and thought, 'Yeah, I get the idea. My problem is not theory, but practice.' As is the case with so many self-help books everything you need to know is in the title. You accept the fact that there is going to be a certain amount of discomfort if you are the first to hit the dancefloor but you embrace it because of the rewards it will bring.
I am inspired by the title of that book and have often thought about it. Well, perhaps I will be inpsired, when I act upon it. There is something very powerful about NOT reading a book about overcoming fear because reading is a form of procrastination. People can easily fall in love with ideas and think that they need to read just one more book to learn how to be a better person. But the fact is that well read people are not necessarily the better for it.
Perhaps this writing has some value if you can identify a fear you have today and start to overcome it after reading this.
Featured Entry by writerIBXVEJZUDO
Note: This is an entry I wrote for last week's theme of Time and Space but unfortunately left it too late to enter the competition, so I'm posting it this week as it would still be nice to get some feedback on it.
Time and Space
You’re doing up your jacket and turning away from me. I try to focus on your shape as you disappear into the corridor but my vision is starting to blur. Out you go, and here I stay as the door slams shut, shaking the clock on the wall. It shudders as a silver hand hits the 1, whose black figure seems stuck there, taught and thin as if the air has been knocked out of it. I know the feeling. I watch the silver silhouette leave him and move on to the 2. Then we watch together as the 2 is left for the 3, fat and smug. They really should have seen this coming, but still, I pity them.
I can barely hear your footsteps on the stairs anymore, and, as the hand’s slender finger slinks away from number 4, the door downstairs opens and shuts and you step out into the street. By the time the clock’s hand approaches number 5 I’m moving across the room to the window. It’s late morning but the clouds are heavy and the light is dimmer than it should be by this point in the day. Climbing out of the window I step down onto the thick air. Beneath me you cross the street, passing first a cafe then a vent in the wall that churns out a thin veil of smoke so that I see you as if through tracing paper. Now you’re turning down the road to the station, and a hot panic is growing in my stomach because soon you’ll be inside and I won’t be able to see you anymore. Then you’ll get on your train and find your seat. Perhaps you’ll leave your book in its bag today, and instead watch as my neighbourhood draws away. I’ll begin to run, trying to keep up with you, but I won’t be fast enough and you’ll slip away.
So I walk with you as far as the station, where you climb the steps and disappear out of sight like I knew you would. I can’t bear it and I’ve started to cry. Below me the moving bodies are losing focus, black coats and umbrellas swimming in front of my eyes like droplets of ink, dispersing into swirls on a damp page. My tears are making itchy trails across my face, and falling in wet flurries onto my jumper. I feel empty and powerless and I want to be back at the beginning. So I turn around and race back to then.
My throat feels scratchy, the way it does when you’re crying and running too fast. When I get to the bridge we are already there. It’s raining lightly and you’ve given me your coat, which I’m holding above me to cover my head. You’re sitting closer to me than I remember, and in the darkness we’re almost melting together. Cars are passing on the road below: two long lines of red and golden-white dots, travelling purposefully, like an army of ants, following each other, trusting that the body in front knows exactly where to go. The rain has picked up and I’ve given up protecting my hair. The top is starting to frizz but you don’t seem to care. I know that in a moment you’ll move even closer to kiss me, and I can’t watch any longer. I’m cold and miserable and everything hurts. I want to be home so that’s where I head, but when I get there it’s early morning and through the slats of my bedroom blinds I see that we’re still asleep. I’m lying stupidly with my arm across your body. My face is blank and ignorant. You must be dreaming because your mouth twitches occasionally and your expression seems to be changing gradually. A clump of hair has fallen across your forehead, softly curling towards your eyebrow. I want to brush it back, to wrap my arm tighter around you and feel the weight of you next to me. But I can’t, so I just stand there, waiting. Eventually you’re up and you're getting in the shower, and I’m in the kitchen cracking eggs. The radio’s on and I’m heating up a pan. From across the room I try to say that there’s no point, but everyone carries on as they were. Maybe I can’t be heard over the radio, so I’m yelling now. Forget it, give up. He doesn’t care. How have you not noticed? My voice cracks and bounces back at me, hollow. Then you’re in the room with me. I’m chewing a mouthful of pancakes and you’re explaining how you need more time and space. Then you’re gone and the door is slamming behind you, making the clock on the wall shake. Its careless hand leaves the 1 then the 2, and I stand there dumbly, unmoving. It drifts past the 4 and a shadow of me moves to the window. I hesitate. The air smells of cinnamon and the door stands firmly shut.
Time and Space
You’re doing up your jacket and turning away from me. I try to focus on your shape as you disappear into the corridor but my vision is starting to blur. Out you go, and here I stay as the door slams shut, shaking the clock on the wall. It shudders as a silver hand hits the 1, whose black figure seems stuck there, taught and thin as if the air has been knocked out of it. I know the feeling. I watch the silver silhouette leave him and move on to the 2. Then we watch together as the 2 is left for the 3, fat and smug. They really should have seen this coming, but still, I pity them.
I can barely hear your footsteps on the stairs anymore, and, as the hand’s slender finger slinks away from number 4, the door downstairs opens and shuts and you step out into the street. By the time the clock’s hand approaches number 5 I’m moving across the room to the window. It’s late morning but the clouds are heavy and the light is dimmer than it should be by this point in the day. Climbing out of the window I step down onto the thick air. Beneath me you cross the street, passing first a cafe then a vent in the wall that churns out a thin veil of smoke so that I see you as if through tracing paper. Now you’re turning down the road to the station, and a hot panic is growing in my stomach because soon you’ll be inside and I won’t be able to see you anymore. Then you’ll get on your train and find your seat. Perhaps you’ll leave your book in its bag today, and instead watch as my neighbourhood draws away. I’ll begin to run, trying to keep up with you, but I won’t be fast enough and you’ll slip away.
So I walk with you as far as the station, where you climb the steps and disappear out of sight like I knew you would. I can’t bear it and I’ve started to cry. Below me the moving bodies are losing focus, black coats and umbrellas swimming in front of my eyes like droplets of ink, dispersing into swirls on a damp page. My tears are making itchy trails across my face, and falling in wet flurries onto my jumper. I feel empty and powerless and I want to be back at the beginning. So I turn around and race back to then.
My throat feels scratchy, the way it does when you’re crying and running too fast. When I get to the bridge we are already there. It’s raining lightly and you’ve given me your coat, which I’m holding above me to cover my head. You’re sitting closer to me than I remember, and in the darkness we’re almost melting together. Cars are passing on the road below: two long lines of red and golden-white dots, travelling purposefully, like an army of ants, following each other, trusting that the body in front knows exactly where to go. The rain has picked up and I’ve given up protecting my hair. The top is starting to frizz but you don’t seem to care. I know that in a moment you’ll move even closer to kiss me, and I can’t watch any longer. I’m cold and miserable and everything hurts. I want to be home so that’s where I head, but when I get there it’s early morning and through the slats of my bedroom blinds I see that we’re still asleep. I’m lying stupidly with my arm across your body. My face is blank and ignorant. You must be dreaming because your mouth twitches occasionally and your expression seems to be changing gradually. A clump of hair has fallen across your forehead, softly curling towards your eyebrow. I want to brush it back, to wrap my arm tighter around you and feel the weight of you next to me. But I can’t, so I just stand there, waiting. Eventually you’re up and you're getting in the shower, and I’m in the kitchen cracking eggs. The radio’s on and I’m heating up a pan. From across the room I try to say that there’s no point, but everyone carries on as they were. Maybe I can’t be heard over the radio, so I’m yelling now. Forget it, give up. He doesn’t care. How have you not noticed? My voice cracks and bounces back at me, hollow. Then you’re in the room with me. I’m chewing a mouthful of pancakes and you’re explaining how you need more time and space. Then you’re gone and the door is slamming behind you, making the clock on the wall shake. Its careless hand leaves the 1 then the 2, and I stand there dumbly, unmoving. It drifts past the 4 and a shadow of me moves to the window. I hesitate. The air smells of cinnamon and the door stands firmly shut.
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