Sometimes I wonder who I’d be and what I’d become if I was born to a different family – started out with a different hand. Would I know myself better? Have less fears? Not be so afraid of failure? Even though I am miserable, scared of clowns and butterflies, AND so scared of doing anything outside of my corner of safety I can’t imagine being okay with anything else.
Is it masochism? Being okay with a known pain? Fear of change? I don’t know. Sometimes I think it’s because of an attachment to who my family is and who I am now. Other times I think it is because I feel like I got something more then anger out of all of this. But honestly, I don’t know the reason.
Why I feel like I’m constantly living one step away from pulling a trigger, but remain so adamant that this was the set of cards I was supposed to be given? What kind of faith is that?
A messed up one,
I.L. Knight
