The Difference Between Fear and Worry, and the Fear of Dying

My first thought about this week’s Finish the Sentence Friday prompt of “I’m afraid of/that…” was that I could write about my fear of dying.

But then I thought about the difference between fear and worry, and what that means.

My fear of spiders and other all bugs (except fireflies because they are awesome and who’s afraid of fireflies? Not this girl!).

My second thought was “Well, this is dumb. Who the $%^*& things of these stupid sentences anyway?” Who wants to write about what she’s afraid of?

And who thought of this sentence???

Oh, right.

I did.

I usually think of these sentences, and then stare at a blank screen and wonder what in the world to write. I’m certainly not going to write about spiders and other bugs, although I fear them.

I could write about dying, because I fear that, too…

Although, when it comes to dying, do I actually fear it?

“Yes, you fear it!” my blood shouts.

But.

It’s a different feeling than for-real actual fear.

Maybe, fear and worry are two different things.

Here’s how I see the difference…

Worry

You get older and realize when people die, it’s for real.

You see that it’s not like it was at your grandfather’s funeral. That was sad, as was burying your dog in the backyard, after he was hit by a car, or hit by cancer.

You passed the dog’s ashes around, each of you bawling, spreading them in the yard, sharing stories. Death is real, and it could happen to you.

To any of us. I know this.

To your kid.

Worry is when you think about exiting malls and a satellite falls from the sky.

The same mall trip could have a sink-hole, filled with lava. This is worry versus fear, I think.

Or, you know. You. Could. Die.

You are at a viable age to die.

And that’s sucky in the biggest, suckiest way possible. That your death would no longer be a tragedy in the history of deaths.

Getting that. The worry, though.

You’re old enough that your death would no longer be a tragedy.

Still, worry.

You’re that old. You’re not *that* old. Not a viable dying age…

You could die from a trip to the mall.You’re definitely worried about dying, and what will happen when you do. It’s not so much about you dying, as well, you’re the better parent. What will happen without you?

That’s the worry.

The fear? It’s a little different.

Fear

You don’t remember the minutes before or after, but remember the buzz in your head. You look at your hands and notice they’re shaking.

You’re hiding behind a dumpster, after a man followed you home from the bus stop. You don’t know how long you wait. Cell phones weren’t yet invented, and waiting is your only hope.

You wonder if you’re paranoid. Maybe he was just going the same way home?

You’re not, you know. Or think. You’re too afraid to think straight. He’s been on the bus before and wasn’t on this route before, except for last night and tonight.

You knew before he got off the bus that he saw you tonight, and wasn’t just hoping for a date. You know when to be afraid, even as you doubt what that’s really like. After all, nothing actually bad has ever really happened to you.

Not like *that* anyway.

Fear

You’re running. Listening to music. You’re happy, flying. In your groove. You’re mesmerized by the fact that your steps have rhythm although you’ve never been able to keep a beat in a dance club without a vodka or two.

You’re running, and free, and healthy. This is you now.

You’re running girl.

There’s a snake on the path, and the buzzing of fear and panic in your ears is so loud and so fast. Weird, because while your body speeds up, your thoughts slow.

You wonder whether it’s true that sucking the venom out works. Your heart rate is high. Will that accelerate the poison? You look around. You’re alone. Just you and the snake.

You leap over it.

It doesn’t strike, but does, in your dreams for years.

 

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This has been a Finish the Sentence Friday post. This week’s topic is “I’m afraid of/that…”

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