Fears and Secrets of mine

At times, often I should say, I live in a state of mind that struggles in between fears and secrets, fears that become secrets and secrets that become fears.
The two melt into one shade of my being. I fear not to succeed, I fear not to reach my goals, I fear to have a life with no purpose, I fear that sometime it will be too late. All of them at some point become secrets… Secrets I keep from myself mostly, than I escalate on keeping them from people I care about. Why? Because then my secrets when aged for too long they are scary, and I fear of changing something that although not great is comfortable and familiar.

I fear immensely not to be able to be a good daughter, to take care of my aging parents, it makes me feel guilty and empty. I then hide this from them and in reaction to my fear I act cold and distant not to let them know of my true feelings and daunting worries. I fear that in the continuous race against time to do my best to look after them, I will forget about myself. About having a life of my own, a family… years will go by and it will be too late! Maybe it already is. This fear turns into resentment that I’m not proud of feeling and hence I hide it in my trunk of secrets.

Being impulsive and never have lived by “what if”, I never fear changes… but often fear afterward that I took the wrong turn. But ruled by my pride I rarely admit it, and once again I quickly stuff that thought as well in my famous trunk.

In evidence of real love, I question if it is indeed real… I over analyze it, is it just an infatuation? An obsession? An adoration? An admiration? An addiction? Should I let one year go by and see if I still feel that way? Should I wait a few years and see if the light-headed sensation at his sight is still so vibrant? Why not wait my whole life? Then if it does last forever maybe it was real love after all! But then I fear that it’s not mutual. Then why expose myself? I would risk to ridicule myself and compromise an enchantment that I treasure. The best solution is once again turn the whole matter in one big awkward secret, never allowing to let my guard down to reveal my true feelings. In desperation I hide this one at the very bottom of the secret trunk, well hidden under all my other irrational fears.

How many times I have re-lived in my head something. I reenacted word by word, step by step some non-sense discussion with someone. I then thought of all the most clever things I should have said. That tortures me, then I wonder if by misunderstanding I excluded that person just to avoid and admit my faults. Have you ever had a friend that inspired you? That her/his presence would enlighten the room? Like a fairy? In case of their disappearance I resented them and decided never to forgive them. Later I found myself wondering if it was just me. Wondering if I should just say “Hi, how are you?”. Being weak scares me once again, showing my tenderness scares me even more… I obviously promptly hide this thought in my fat trunk.

Isolation should solve all this problems, but it does not. It just gives me even more time to think about them. In my solace they have grown and now they risk to leak out of the trunk, no matter how many locks I seal it with.
The result? Maybe I’m just a liar, to myself mostly.