My Deepest Fear
JANUARY 31, 2013
My Deepest Fear
Mikaila J Rodgers
Major and Semester Standing: English, Second Semester Freshman mjr5608@psu.edu
One of the biggest lies ever told is that sleep is the best meditation. For as I lie down to rest each night, I toss and turn for hours on end, troubled by the occurrences of each day, overwhelmed by the mistakes I’ve undeniably made, and haunted by the mistakes I will undoubtedly make tomorrow. The restlessness caused by my insecurities never ceases to defeat me. And in an attempt to escape the existential terrors of existence, I write. Until my journal is filled to the end…until my eyes slowly descend. I write…
I have been reading since I was two years old. Because it is generally not in the nature of toddlers to comprehend modest literary works, I did not read books. Instead, I read my surroundings, analyzing both periods of pleasure and whiles of disparity, subconsciously retaining not the former but the latter. And as books come to life in the mind, mirroring motion pictures, I remember my childhood as such. Watching my mother, so young, being beaten by numerous “boyfriends” proved detrimental to my innocent psyche. Not only were these men beating her, they were beating this idea of normalcy into my head that I’d amount to nothing greater. I’d achieve nothing more than what my mother had, having had two children at eighteen with no high school diploma to lessen unforgiving circumstances. And I sit in school feeling as if my dreams, at the very root of them, have dried up like raisins in the sun…I sit in my classes fathoming my destiny so intently that I am merely pretending to understand what is being taught. Therefore, despite the words of the revered Nelson Rolihlahla Mandela, my deepest fear is, in fact, that I am inadequate. I fear that I am not good enough and the task of disproving this dread has been arduous, knowing that every day, something has tried to destroy me and has simply fallen short. And I am unsure if
My Deepest Fear
Mikaila J Rodgers
Major and Semester Standing: English, Second Semester Freshman mjr5608@psu.edu
One of the biggest lies ever told is that sleep is the best meditation. For as I lie down to rest each night, I toss and turn for hours on end, troubled by the occurrences of each day, overwhelmed by the mistakes I’ve undeniably made, and haunted by the mistakes I will undoubtedly make tomorrow. The restlessness caused by my insecurities never ceases to defeat me. And in an attempt to escape the existential terrors of existence, I write. Until my journal is filled to the end…until my eyes slowly descend. I write…
I have been reading since I was two years old. Because it is generally not in the nature of toddlers to comprehend modest literary works, I did not read books. Instead, I read my surroundings, analyzing both periods of pleasure and whiles of disparity, subconsciously retaining not the former but the latter. And as books come to life in the mind, mirroring motion pictures, I remember my childhood as such. Watching my mother, so young, being beaten by numerous “boyfriends” proved detrimental to my innocent psyche. Not only were these men beating her, they were beating this idea of normalcy into my head that I’d amount to nothing greater. I’d achieve nothing more than what my mother had, having had two children at eighteen with no high school diploma to lessen unforgiving circumstances. And I sit in school feeling as if my dreams, at the very root of them, have dried up like raisins in the sun…I sit in my classes fathoming my destiny so intently that I am merely pretending to understand what is being taught. Therefore, despite the words of the revered Nelson Rolihlahla Mandela, my deepest fear is, in fact, that I am inadequate. I fear that I am not good enough and the task of disproving this dread has been arduous, knowing that every day, something has tried to destroy me and has simply fallen short. And I am unsure if