The Saints Of Mibba

Fear. Everybody has one. Everybody has that one thing that just makes them shudder, or whimper at the fact that it might be near. And damn it, Fear can control your life, can’t it? You might not want to leave your house because of it. Or you might not be able to stand the sound of chainsaws because of it. There’s just that one thing, and it’s always going to be there, lurking.

I have a Fear of love.

It’s not just of falling in love, it’s of people loving me. I know, you think it’s weird, or just plain silly. But it’s a Fear. It’s my Fear. And it’s been there for the longest time now.

Okay, so two years doesn’t justify as the longest time. But it’s been there for quite a while. I’m not really sure how it started. But I think it started, when I realized how love affects everyone. And not just the romantic, cheesy, soap-opera love, either. Any type of love.

Because Love hurts. It’s basically the make it or break it of one’s self. I mean, isn’t it? If someone tells you they don’t love you—or you have a falling out—it hurts. And that’s another thing I hate. I hate pain. I hate emotion. I hate it all. So I mean, this fear, it’s only natural, right?

And I’ve been hurt too many times to count. Rejected, and not just from boyfriend/girlfriends. Friends, in general. I’ve been rejected, just so many times. So maybe it was the girl in fifth grade who called me a bitch’s fault. Or maybe it was that guy I fell in love with fault. Or maybe it was my own fault.

You can’t let other people love you, if you don’t love yourself, I suppose. So maybe it was my fault, this Fear, lurking there in the corner. It’s hard to fight back at it. Especially when I have no self esteem, and a tough time with liking my physical appearance.

I distanced myself. I told myself it wasn’t worth it to let other people see the real me, and I pulled myself away. I did it all the time. I put myself in a corner of the room at family gatherings, and tuned them out. I ignored them when they asked if I was okay, and I never hugged them.

And, darling, distancing myself—it wasn’t exactly a good thing. Self-Harm comes in many forms, and I believe this was almost as bad as sitting there and slitting my wrists. I was robbing myself of something every person deserved—even the worst of the worst.

I was told—growing up—that I was so independent. I didn’t need anybody, and I could do well on my own. It wasn’t something feminist, it was just my mother and aunt telling me that I was one hell of a strong girl. I suppose they were right—I don’t take anyone’s shit, to this day, and I shoot a gun just as well as the next best guy.

So I didn’t need love, my mind told me. If I was so independent, then I didn’t need love. All I needed was school, music, a pen and paper, and my books. I would be set. I could block out anyone and anything for the rest of my life.

Like anyone would with Fear, I was finding a way to drive around it. I was avoiding it, not confronting it.

As if by some magical miracle, I was reading Rolling Stone after a really shitty day. Because, Rolling Stone gets to me, and I was a huge MCR fan that faithful February. So, who knew it, INO was mentioned in there.

And they say curiosity catches the cat, so I got home, and typed it in.

Addiction: (noun) ad*dic*tion- great interest in a particular thing to which a lot of time is devoted- e.g. internet addiction.

Not really to INO, but I did click on the Mibba link that same night. And low and behold, I found friends. Lest, friends that actually cared. Something I was horrified of. ‘No, they can’t care about me, and no, they can’t love me, and want to be there for me. Something bad will just happen.’

But obviously, when you’re addicted, you can’t just leave. And, these people were just so nice, I couldn’t just stop talking to them. There was something about this specific site in general, not even Myspace could top it.

I know what you’re thinking right about now. That this is like some episode of Doctor Who where everything goes all over the place. But remember, at the end of every episode of Doctor Who, everything ties together to make an ending.

Slowly, and, with a great resistance, I let myself care for them as much as they cared for me. And slowly, in the real world, where keyboards and text talk wasn’t permitted, I allowed my family back inside.

I still don’t show emotion. And God knows I still have that same Fear of Love. I can’t stand to let new people in, and it’s hard for me to open up—even now, but…for some reason, Mibba—and all my newfound friends, made me see that maybe, just maybe, being loved wasn’t such a bad thing.

So, what’s your Fear?