Dear fear,

  Do you know anyone who blasts classical music and loves listening to it? Despite daily bullying and microaggressions, who remains committed to their cultural values and traditions? Who is indifferent to their clothing choices, aside from specific situations, and has no interest in alcohol or drugs? Me! I do not care for all these things. I believe in myself. I have unwavering faith in my potential for greater achievements. I am the biggest culprit with holding myself down. As Marianne Williamson says, “Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness, that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won’t feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It’s not just in some of us; it’s in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.”  Williamson, from A Return To Love: Reflections on the Principles of A Course in Miracles. 

I choose not to follow any particular faith, but that quote resonates with me. You do not have any power over me when I have an army that includes God, ancestors, angels, and divine beings, all of whom resonate love. I believe love conquers any fear, yet we still need some fear getting through this thing called life. We reduce ourselves, and our peers contribute to this, making us feel inadequate. My most fulfilling life experiences have come from conquering my greatest fears. For instance, moving to Texas from California, on my own and being able to transfer my job. I had the help of my amazing cousin, who has been a steadfast helper and who has been more of a brother than a cousin. We have to learn to lean on others and trust the process. While it always requires hard work, manifestation’s power is so profound it alters realities. I also took a chance on dating and found someone wonderful who is showing me I deserve a man who is chivalrous, gentle, kind, sensitive, and loving! Who would have thought Facebook was good for dating?  

People do not realize what you ask the universe to give to you,the universe will deliver! It is a simple idea, but it is a fact. Watch/read The Secret, and you will see what I mean. I am not very good at describing other people’s ideas, but I can tell you mine. Why would you want to waste your time hating people, things that are bad/evil? Why don’t you choose love instead? Love your friends, family (I know it’s hard), and everyone else. We do not practice true love in this world anymore! What is true love? The ability to wish someone well even if they did something bad. Have a little more empathy and try to do good! Counter fear with good, not tit-for-tat! I can only hope more people realize this. 

Love

Asma

I see you there, holding all that weight,
A heart cracked open by fear and fate.
You tremble in shadows where love should have grown,
Haunted by voices that chilled you to the bone.

Your Mother’s hands, meant to heal and hold,
Instead left bruises, silent and cold.
And yet, the fear of her being gone
Cuts deeper than words could ever spawn.

Grandmother’s warmth was a flickering light,
But even that slipped into endless night.
Now grief sits heavy, a ghost by your side,
While old wounds and memories silently collide.

Anxiety whispers, “You’re never enough.”
Depression replies, “Why fight when it’s tough?”
PTSD drags you back to those days,
When safety was fleeting, lost in a haze.

And still, the walls feel thinner each day,
Threatening to crumble, to drift away.
What if the roof gives in to the storm?
What if you’re left out in the cold, far from warm?

But hear me now, in this fragile line:
Your pain does not erase your shine,
You’ve survived storms darker then the sky,
And though you’re tired, you still try.

The house may shake, but you are stone.
Built from scars and standing alone.
And even if the walls fall down,
You are not lost, you will not drown.

Breathe, even when it hurts to start.
Hold space for the cracks in your heart.
You are more than the shadows that chase,
More than the fears you quietly face.
So, when the night feels far too long,
Remember: you are still here. You are still strong.

With love,
Your Inner-self

Style Score 100%

My Dear Fear,

When the bell tolls do I answer the call? When our lips touch does it mean I’m the object of your desire or am I walking on a high wire and blaming only me when I land in the den of lions below.
The Phoenix cannot rise when the ash is heavy, the weight of the buildings colliding, collapsing on a softened soul who only wanted to exist in a time a space for as long as she had control, which was not possible.
Why wait for the kids to be born for the family to leave to establish the role of the terminally ill the wasted life the fear factor the scare tactic the one to run from.
I was not to have
I was to hold.
I was too old
I wasn’t me enough to be accepted…rejected on the regular my aching achievements taken away all I worked for is gone in a day with the wind in the depths of our sins and the weakness to which we subscribe.
I on one hand oblige, I walk side by side with the sky but heaven doesn’t appear to my eyes there is no space to connect the two. Sky fitting heaven, weakened and beaten but how can I attach to a world that has discarded me and told me I don’t belong here how do I hold on to the light the traveling of roads and being alone it’s too much on days and nights alone with my stash and a little extra cash from some savvy dealings.
Yes I am appealing but not to the right ones. Why can’t I attract better than demons?
The outbreak of a plague and the repercussions of 600,000 dead in the streets and yet I sit amidst my sheets and hide and wish to die quietly without fanfare or long drawn out goodbyes.
It’s the suffering of anticipation that makes it so unbearable.
For children for the grief I absorb and should push forth instead onto those who should own it.
I am not the one.
Rotating around an unknown sun…looking for my son in the light of summertime.
The Catskills shine and burn my eyes the mountains are watching, waiting for me to die it’s torture it’s torment but what can be done, when your time is up you just can not run.
Frozen, heart open but cannot move an inch for fear of being pinched hard by the universe and the depth of the thin lines on which I travel and wish for solid ground.
I want to be found…out here in the mountains where my family took bullets and then their own life and where do we go from there?
Watch the news read bad reviews of art you could never create. Like being a subjugate matter for the destined courts of judgement to decide on when and where I go or stay.
Is it a realm just next door is it a far off universe is it a black hole of darkness where I can’t I see my friends, my babies again?
It doesn’t work that way my child he said. He being the god of fairy tales and fantasy. She being the true mother of earth and the universe.
She is me
and I am she
and we are we
and god is only here.
I have the control yet I let it be in the hands of the lost and ones who are crossed along their own crucifixion and shame.
I will never change, a deranged beauty with a strong sense of shame but still must I die with this stain on my name?

Style score 89%

Fighting My Fear

To the monster at my tail,
The all-consuming darkness,
The demon eating me from the inside out,
My persistent bipolar depression –
Know that you will always fail.

You grabbed me when I was small,
Still innocent and naïve,
Oblivious to your existence,
Just trying to grow and get along.
How swiftly you made me fall.

The first battle you almost won.
You withered away my body and soul,
Tricked me into paranoid isolation,
Carried me willingly towards death,
Made me think that you and I were one.

Somehow, I grew stronger,
Shed off your heavy skin,
Almost retrieved my childhood,
Discovered who I really was,
Lingered without you a short time longer.

Then you slyly snuck back inside,
Returned with a vengeance like cancer,
The tumors hidden, but painful,
Taking over my mind and spreading fast.
I thought I had died.

Again and again, you returned,
Both of us fiercer each time.
Each of us learning new tricks,
Straying further away from sanity,
So far away from those concerned.

Yes, you almost won the war.
More than twice I nearly died.
You stole my memories,
But I remembered what mattered.
I got in touch with my inner core.
 
Day and night, I labored away,
Building a new me without you,
Still rubbing out your stain.
I always thought I was strong and tough,
But I had failed to keep you at bay.

I worked muscles long forgotten,
Learned how to love and trust –
Not you, but myself, and select others.
Living became bearable, more navigable.
With my growth, you began to rotten.

Honestly, I still fear you,
Weak and small as you’ve become.
I continue to build my defenses,
Recruiting more soldiers for our next fight.
When you do return, I know what to do.

Pro-Writing Aid Style Score: 79%

as if she actually trembles before the glance of the beautiful but so frightened sea

I stare with revelation as I look upon the waves and sounds before it can even look back at me

see sea, maybe the ocean isn’t what it’s watered up and down to actually be

blue, beautiful water and boats with many more things filled with so many animals that we can even hardly name see sea, what I mean?

trusting that one could float above what’s attainable to feel without the fear
that follows me
which shadows us
they eventually think
can grip you tightly?

but one tends to fight one punch up in the atmosphere gasping for some type of fulfillment that this individual could eventually catch a break

stopping for a second to breathe, breathe, take deep breaths for a moment, and allow whatever tension to ease like the breeze sea, now you see what I mean?

Lifeguard, please help quickly! Someone is drowning!!!!

Dear Death;
My life has rapidly changed since suffering a fall in my classroom back in the Spring of 2022. I was preparing for our school’s Open House, placing student artwork on my classroom walls when I fell backward and hit my head with such force that I broke two molars. I ended up in the emergency room with a diagnosis of a concussion and also a back injury. The exam was not very thorough because two days later, cracks in my teeth finally gave way while I was eating; I ended up spitting out broken pieces of two teeth.
For me, that accident truly changed my life forever. Eventually, I received a diagnosis of Post-concussional Syndrome. I often felt loopy, my back continued to cause pain, I frequently suffered headaches, I was often quite irritable, and I was always tired. In time, I ended up on disability, although I recently retired from 20 years of teaching.
Fast forward to the Spring of 2024. After several falls and other minor symptoms, I received a diagnosis of Parkinson’s disease. I was worried about that diagnosis, but then I knew I could live a long time with Parkinson’s symptoms, which seemed scary. I was prepared to fight, but then as the summer continued and my symptoms got worse, my original diagnosis changed to Progressive Supranuclear Palsy, a disease I hadn’t ever heard of. Unlike Parkinson’s Disease, PSP is a rare, incurable neurodegenerative disorder that, in time, will damage brain cells, causing issues with movement, balance, vision, speech and swallowing. A PSP diagnosis is terminal. Shortly after receiving this news, the idea of death seemed too great, too painful, too real. Surprisingly, the thought of death crept into my life. However, early on, I decided I would not allow the complications from this debilitating disease to control my life. So, death, I have decided not to welcome you into my life.
I have gone from a non-disabled person to someone who now relies heavily on my husband to take care of everything–but we’ve been together since we were 14 years old. For 50 years, he’s been by my side. We both know the reality of my prognosis-but we both need to live with hope and lots of love–because really, what else is there?
This past year has been an exciting one! One year ago, we bought a cabin at Lake Almanor. This purchase followed two previous home losses. You see, in 2018, we lost a home we owned for 30 years in the Camp Fire in Paradise, California. Tragically, 3 years later, our beloved lake house burned down in the Dixie Fire. The purchase of our new-to-us 75-year-old cabin has been such a wonderful project to work on—a labor of love. My husband, who has his contractor’s license, completely tore the cabin down to the studs and has completely rebuilt every inch. The only outside help was the hiring of an electrician and a plumber.
This project has allowed us to focus on our future, which includes a gorgeous view of Lake Almanor from our deck. We spent the last year buying furniture and decorations to fill our new home away from home. All our furnishings are in a storage shed we purchased to store the collection of special items. I bought two sleeper sofas, an antique Hoosier, and a vintage table and chair set. I purchased an antique entry table, two side tables, and a beautiful electric fireplace. My collection also included several paintings and antique knick-knacks. We are ready to move our belongings in–I’d probably say that I was ready the moment Randy finished hammering the last nail! There are still a few last-minute tasks from Randy’s punch list to complete. Those will not take long.
There is one purchase that I’m eagerly waiting to take up to the lake: a newly reupholstered chair that at one time belonged to my momma, who died of metastatic breast cancer in 1997 at the young age of 59. When I sit in the chair, I feel my momma’s essence–it was her absolute favorite chair to sit and ponder life. So that’s exactly what I’m going to do–I’m going to ponder my life and its greatness. I will contemplate how crazy and sad it can be, but I will certainly spend more time thinking about how wonderful it has been. This message is for Death; you are not welcome in my home, not now, not soon. I have way too much to live for. In my life, it’s Lake Almanor or BUST!!!

Style score: 100

You’ve been lurking around here for a while now
Taunting me.
Haunting me.
Creeping around every corner, waiting patiently in the shadows, camping out in the attic,
Gripping my throat with your ice cold claws when I’m at my lowest.
You step onto the scene and
Dread locks in.
The sweat glands in my trembling hands kick into overdrive. The rapid beating of my heart leaves me breathless.
You know you have won when I isolate;
Turn out the lights.
Close the curtains.
Lock my doors.

But I’m done.
I’m done opening my door for you.
Done pushing everyone away just because you told me to.
I’m done letting you own me and degrade me, telling me I’ll never measure up, telling me I’m alone in this world, highlighting my insecurities.
I’m ready to fight back
Stand up tall, shoulders square,
Jaw set in defiance.

You’ve been lurking around here for a while now
But I see you
And I’m turning on the lights
Because you can’t control me anymore.

This is my house
My family
My planet
And you don’t belong here anymore.

There is no room for you in my victory.

Death,
I got a text from my dad today. A photo from the back of an ambulance, captioned, “Just busted my face in the driveway”. Three days in the spring semester of my first year of college, here I am, researching the soonest train that would take me the 300 miles back home. Sure, my mom told me I don’t need to come home, that everything will be alright. Sure, I have classes that I shouldn’t miss. Sure, he’s going to be fine—but what if he’s not?
At the ripe age of seven, my best friend was my aunt. That is, until you took her from me. When I found her, lying still in bed, asking me to call 9-1-1. I was seven when I saw my best friend for the last time, carried away on a gurney.
Mortality is something every one of us has to face. There’s a reason people say, “The only guarantee in life is death and taxes.” But, for a seven-year-old, death shouldn’t have been on my mind. I should have been wondering which friends to invite to my sleepover or what doll I wanted for Christmas. Instead, I was facing great existential crises, wondering, If my aunt could die, does that mean my mom will die? Does this mean everybody I love is going to die? What’s going to happen when someone else dies? What’s going to happen when I die? Oh my God, I’m going to die. Now, twelve years have passed, and you still consume many of my waking (and sleeping) thoughts.
I didn’t see my beloved aunt before she died. Years later, I learned that she died at home in hospice care, not an uncomfortable hospital bed. See, that’s what happens when you are seven years old and experiencing such a tragedy—the adults don’t let you in on the details. They all wanted to protect me from the darkness in the world, but it was no use. I had already seen firsthand the darkest force of them all: you.
So. My dad hit his head, is going to the hospital, and I’m galaxies away. I feel like I’m seven years old all over again, so helpless to the world’s random whims. The homework due at 11:59 PM tonight now feels daunting, and I can’t focus as the worst-case-scenario thoughts raced around my head. Closing my textbook, defeated, I started writing this letter as some sort of therapy. They always say that facing your fears is the way to overcome them, after all.
When I was fifteen, I tried exactly that. Taking matters into my own hands, I decided that if I ended it all myself, then you’d be less scary, and maybe I could regain some semblance of control. It was silly to think that I could have the upper hand against you, my foe. You’re the boogeyman, the mysterious force hanging above my head, lurking in the shadows. You’re arrogant, taking what and whom you please with no remorse. You, death, are my worst fear, my enemy, the one thing I wish I could make go away and the one thing I know I can’t.
But maybe your inevitability makes you less scary. There’s serenity in the uncertainty, if I really think hard about it. The unknown can make one appreciate things more, live life to the fullest, so long as you don’t let the anger and grief and questions weigh you down. I’ve never been good at that last part, but I will get better. I have to.
You may be unavoidable, but that won’t control me as it did at seven. I see now that you want me, all of us, to submit to your all-powerful force, to feel your misery encompass us. Well, let me tell you this: I won’t let you win. No matter how much fear and hate I hold towards you, you are still the only guarantee in life—at least one can evade taxes. But I don’t want that daunting fact of life to paralyze me anymore. I will conquer you and your ugly darkness by living a light, beautiful life. A life without fear, without constraints, without you.
I don’t think my dad is actually going to die today. But, on the off chance that a strange, unknown force of nature decides it’s his time, I won’t make the same mistakes I did when I was seven. If, God forbid, my dad doesn’t make it, I won’t allow you to eat me alive once again, to shield me from all the good in the world by encompassing me in the bad. I refuse to be scared. My fear gives you power, and no matter how much you may hurt me, I will never grant you such power again.

(84% Style Score)

You made yourself known
To a very young girl
Who wanted to dress up
Play with high heels and pearls
She asked many to join her
But was shut down, forgotten
So slowly but surely
She shut her heart down and locked it
She was desperate, pathetic
In need of attention
So she did things to get it
That I would rather not mention
That young girl grew up
And she made a mistake
She let down her guard
And she let her heart break
She didn’t ask him to stay
She was taught at a young age
Never beg one to be there
Humans aren’t meant to be caged
The bump on her belly
Made no difference at all
And when the blood started coming
He never even called
Just the same as that girl had
She felt worthless and weak
She was embarrassed and shut down
Puny and meek
From that day going forward
She did what she had to
To ensure you weren’t present
She had to avoid you
She became a chameleon
And transformed as was necessary
To feed the needs of her suitors
Her friends, or her family
Here’s the thing with rejection, though
It has no worthy contender
Because you are inevitable
Even to the very best pretender
The best she can do now
Is dress in high heels and pearls
And to break that whole cycle
For her own little girls
To show them they’re worthy
Loved, and accepted
Because one really suffers
When all they feel is rejected.

(Style Score 100%)

Dear fear,

You’ve been my side for so long. A confusing companion,you were always whispering sweet terribles in my ear. You did it all with a smile and and a nod, as if I were supposed to thank you for it afterward. Every slight move I made, there you were, like clockwork, whispering in my ear as if I’d never heard it before “You will become this”. Such a warning that often caused me to put my guard up in whichever endeavor I was embarking on, be it a conversation or a hobby, an event. You were so terrified that I would quickly, or slowly, become a different person who was obsessed with this thing or idea. You could see the dateline episode now: “She lived a normal life, until she discovered (fill in the blank) and everything changed.” Followed by a she went crazy or ended up in a ditch. Fear, you’re very predictable in that way, the endings to your stories always end similar to this.

But what you don’t understand, fear, is that when you whisper this in my ear, I put my guard up, I make myself balance my mind and my time, which makes me feel healthier. But the terrifying feeling doesn’t go away. I still
think I’m one move away from insanity or death. I don’t trust myself or my ability to discipline myself and keep in check. It’s driven from fear instead of from love and respect for myself. The other thing to consider, fear, is that some areas need focus, immersion, practice, and I cannot do that with you
or the shadow of you nearby to remind me that if I play too much, I will
neglect my family, forget all of the things I have to do and not pay my bills
because I’m too focused on the piano. This keeps me from doing anything that takes more attention than just one attempt.

I know you’re trying to help and have good intentions. You’re just trying to keep me safe. So here’s my proposal: I will make a list of all of the important things to do in my life. On that list, I will leave a space for new hobbies, new ideas, learning, music, etc. But this list will remind me if and when I get tunnel vision, exactly where this lies on my priorities list. I will put the list up so I can see it every day and it will remind me. So you can rest and be ready
for when I need you for something bigger. And you have to trust me that when I look at that list that I will re-calibrate and make sure to stick to the list and be the healthiest I can be.

See, fear? You’re not going to be asked to leave. You’re important. You just need to rest and I will take care of this one for us. If we can learn to work together, we will feel great and do great things.

You’ve plagued my life for years. You crept into my life and grew into a shadow that grew into my personality.

In my elementary years, you were a bad taste in my mouth. You made me fear bringing my report card to my parents, fear my homework, fear not knowing something, fear raising my hand in class. You told me I was dumb. 

In my middle school years, you were a cloud in my head. I was afraid of my peers. I had fears of being an outcast. Fears of being weird. Fears of being myself. You told me no one would like me. You told me I was too different, too weird. You told me I was a loser. I played volleyball in these years, too. I loved the sport until you made me fear it. Fear of being a terrible player. Fear of my teammates judging me. Fear of disappointing my parents. You told me my entire self-worth was in my performance. You told me that if I miss my serve, hit, or set, my parents would resent me. You told me my teammates would resent me. You told me I wasn’t good enough. And I stopped playing.

In my high school years, you were constricting my chest. You made me fear my friends. Fear they would realize I was a loser. Fear they were lying to me. Fear I was going to losing them. You told me they hated me. You told me they only liked me because they felt bad for me. You told me they were talking behind my back. You told me I wasn’t worthy of having friends. 

In my adult life, you were everywhere. You were in my bones, in my skin, and in my veins. You left me paralyzed with fear. I had all these fears of my previous years with the added fear of not being a good adult. Fear of getting fired. Fear of not having an income. Fear of getting evicted. Fear of being homeless. Fear of earthquakes. Fear of fires. Fear of being a terrible cat owner. Fear of everyone lying. Fear of being in a car accident. Fear of going outside. Fear. Fear. Fear. You told me I wasn’t capable of handling anything that might come at me. You told me I wasn’t able to adapt. You told me I was already a failure.

You always were quick, decisive, and persuasive. Why wouldn’t I believe you when you said I was weak?

I never knew your real name. I know it now. Your name is anxiety. I discovered your name when I sought help. I discovered your weakness is mindfulness, breathing, talking about you, and accepting you. I realized I am not a failure. I am worthy of having friends. I am good enough. I’m not a loser. I’m not dumb. And I realized YOU make me strong. If I can still achieve a lifetime of achievements, even with you whispering your lies, I am strong. 

Goodbye for now. I know your lies will never stop, but from now on, I’ll be ready and I will be strong. 

Style Score: 100%

Dear Mr. H. Migraine,

I hope my letter finds my dearest and oldest companion in an agreeable mood and temperament. Although a letter would seem silly, as you are such a frequent visitor, we never communicate during your visits, and I would like to talk about our long and sordid relationship. I hope for us to work toward a better partnership.

You came into my life similar to how lightning meets the sands of a beach. There was no warning, and your very presence dropped me to my knees. The immense power you had over me was all I could do was hold myself together in fear that I could not keep the fabric of my being together. You do not have a face, although I am unsure if having a face would make you more or less scary, as your presence alone is terrifying even to recall. 

The moments ticked by as I stubbornly refused to make a sound or submit to your will. The clock’s ticking was in rhythm to your punishment of me, so loud, as if it was more significant than the clocks in the town squares and as if I could hear each gear moving, whirling, and ticking. 

Even after all this time, I am still unsure of what I did. I am sure of one thing: you are the immortal henchman of punishment. You are unkillable, indestructible, and unstoppable. You are the embodiment of strength and power. Your power over the human body is something to behold, and I admire its brilliance and beauty.

You start with confusion and a sense of foreboding. The voices of others become more acute. The sunlight and lightbulbs are just a little too bright, and the colors are too vivid. My eyes searched for you. You arrive at an iridescent geometric spot of doom before moving to aphasia. Every day, items or words are wrong; I am losing my understanding of reality in real-time, and I know it’s happening. I cannot deny that you are pulling me toward your chamber of unequivocal torture that is imminent, and there is nowhere to hide.

Conversations are slow to comprehend, and replying to questions sounds like talking through water. My voice is not my own. You leave me unable to communicate. I slur my words, saying things completely different from what I meant. This part causes extreme anxiety and is a double-edged sword. Anxiety speeds you through the express line to torture, but that thought alone produces more anxiety for the dreaded next step, the inability to remember what day it is, who your loved ones are, and even your name. So, of course, my only option is to repeat over and over my name is…, and my husband is…. It’s like you do this for your amusement of seeing me completely forget those around me that I love the most. 

Then, as you envelop me in your embrace, it comes like a tidal wave of every moment of regret and wrongdoing in the form of excruciating agony. I can only lay still, not daring to tip my equilibrium and press my eyes too tightly together to let out a tear, as it only adds to your torture. The pressure is like being at the ocean’s bottom while seasick. Every moment is spent contemplating every wrong thing I have said or done as though you are not long for the next life. At least you hope so because, at this point, death is a welcomed savior from you.

Your visits are sometimes brief, and other times, you stay like an unwelcomed squatter for days or weeks as though you will never tire of torturing me. The explosions of iridescent colors are so bright that they feel like daggers, open or closed, through my eyes. It makes no difference. You forced me to be blinded by you throughout the process for days.

Now, we are both getting older, and even though you are still all-powerful, we must take time away from each other more frequently. Let’s come to a truce. I don’t wish you to visit my worst enemies, but I would like you not to see me so often. I would like to spend the time I have left with my husband and family.

I understand you want to take me as you have so many; that is the nature of what you are, but you won’t win. I was born during the “Storm of the Century,” in the middle of a category five hurricane, and it portended my strength and my sheer stubbornness for survival. We can continue this dance if you insist, but you will have a long wait until I pass on an old woman warm in my bed when I am good and ready to go, but you will never take me by force. So do your worst; I am ready. 

Sincerely, Calliope Richard
(Style score 100%)