Fear is not my ally. It’s been a constant companion, but not a friend and certainly not an ally. It’s more like a subtle, rotten smell that creeps in anytime I’m trying to enjoy myself. Imagine you’re being offered a chance to eat world class cuisine of your choice. It’s a big thing- an impressive dinner – but then the stink of fear tickles your nose. It sparks bile in your belly, and forces it up into the back of your throat, or onto your tongue.
Fear leads to anxiety. Anxiety is basically our fight-or-flight responses out of control, triggering when there’s no actual need. My counselor and I call it the ‘cat brain.’ It’s more evolved than a lizard brain, but still a bundle of instincts and claws. In my case, it’s learned a lot of bad associations and, when provoked, claws the shit out of me. I honestly imagine it looking like my cat, Tellus. When I first got him, and for the first few years of his life, he couldn’t be held or petted or touched. Loud noises sent him running into the basement, towards the darkest possible corner.
Over time, though, he learned that pettings are a nice thing. Loud noises, while startling, can be survived. He doesn’t automatically claw anyone who hugs him and, in fact, will cuddle atop you for an uncomfortable period of time. (He’s also a chonky cat).
My cat brain fears: judgement, punishment for failure, anger and aggression, change, and the total invalidation of any positive sense of self. Best way to trigger him into hiding under the couch is to take something I love or think I’m good at (writing) and attack it aggressively (burn a short story in front of me) while calling me a failure (bonus points for Serbian accented abuse).
Unfortunately, this means I naturally isolate myself from workshops and other networking events. Which tears me up because… well, I need a writing buddy. And finding one, finding friends in the writing community, terrifies me. It exposes me to all of my cat brain fears on multiple levels. Yet, part of me aches for just one person I can talk to about writing. A phone conversation. A chat. Something. My wife is my biggest fan (and she will fight you on that, trust me) but she does not feel comfortable being a writing buddy.
When I mentioned this to her, my brain crosswired and said, “Writing boyfriend” instead of “writing buddy.” But the level of intimacy is similar, at least to me. I need someone who’s got similar (writing) interests, similar ambitions, and is willing to be honest with me about the ups and downs. It’s hard enough to have friendships at my age and anxiety levels. Writing buddy? Man, that’s terror. Writing boyfriend? Possible story idea, but still terrifying.
And yet… and yet…
Biomechanoid Blues 