yours {h.s.} | {b1.5}

AUGUST 4, 2019

August 4, 2019

Fear is no stranger to me; not with a childhood like mine, not with an adolescent life filled with the insistence of protecting my girls, and not with a young adulthood that consisted of my springing from one country to another and forced me to leave my sisters behind. In actuality, fear is like an old friend. One that lives right on my shoulder and whispers my anxieties to me on a loop all day long. Such is the way of life that I've grown accustomed to.

I've come to learn that consistent things lose feeling, lose meaning. That is to say: a fear that is felt every second of every day grows numb. Certainly when I think about it actively, the fear is there and gripping. But in the moments that I don't think about it, the feeling can fade to the back of my mind... even while I'm still feeling it.

But I'm rambling.

Point: I know fear. I'm well-acquainted with the emotion. Or, so I thought. For the first time in my life I'm presented with a kind of fear that I'd never anticipated before. I was in the wrong, or, so I think. In matters like this it's so hard to say whether I am the sole one to blame or whether I can have someone to help shoulder the burden. I hope the latter. I've always been quick on my feet which is why I said it: easily, I handed off blame. In the moment it felt disgusting but I was so well aware that it was her, or me. Doubtful that she has five sisters an ocean away depending on a paycheck. Though, I suppose I don't know what's fueling her fire, I just knew in that moment that I couldn't afford to lose this.

Reckless endangerment.

It makes me sick to my stomach knowing what I did. It's the kind of mistake that I'll be paying for for the rest of my life. Not only because I singlehandedly ensured a vibrant hatred from the entirety of the neuro surgical department for the rest of my life, but simply because an honest to God mistake cost someone her job. Worse still, I found myself defending it to them all. My peers. Tonight they called me Abaddon and I'm too tired to look up what it means. Certainly, nothing good.

I sat at the bar all night and I talked to Fletch until my voice went hoarse and only then did I drag myself off the barstool and drive home. I cried the whole way. Now I'm sitting up in bed and it's 3:21 in the morning and I know I should call my sisters but I can't bring myself to do it. If they hear my voice, they'll know how bad I fucked up. Someday, I can only hope it gets easier. Maybe someday, I won't be filled with such self-loathing. At this point, the worst part is that I know I deserve it.