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I know fear is at the root of everything, but my defense mechanisms took over years ago and became out-of-control berserkers. To cover the fear, I hated: I looked for things that embarrassed me, annoyed me, irritated me, or were just plain wrong, according to my new world order. To maintain distance, I’d occasionally let the offenders know of my disapproval. Then, I got to the point where I didn’t care if they hated me. Hard on the outside, dead on the inside.

A Month of Promises (pages 83-84), sentence 10: Fear of people and of economic insecurity will leave us.

Afraid that people would eventually abandoned me, I’d issue a preemptive strike. Which, of course, assured the abandonment. It was important that I was right, regardless of how I got there. I was rigging the experiment to prove that my results were correct: I was a hopeless piece of crap human being that was still, somehow, better than everyone else. I’d become the troll under the bridge, the Grinch on the mountain.

I think I misread the assignment. Turning myself into a resentment-filled, mind-punched lasher-outer can’t be the object of the exercise. And that way of living and thinking and rationalizing and believing continued ad infinitum with alcohol.

Once that was removed, I was left inside an oversized, heavy, cumbersome shell that I’m afraid to walk around in. Back to the fear. Without mush brain, my defenses were revealed to be lame and petty. Time to step out into the light for real this time, and stay there.

Clinging is the action. Suffering is the result.
Letting go is the action. Peace is the result.

One thought on “war relic.

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