Back Into the Lions' Den

For those who fear.

 

BACK INTO THE LIONS’ DEN

 

My first day of college was uneventful but anxious, enjoyable yet terrifying. Although a distinctly new experience, it was tainted by my past, a slick film of dread that covered every moment with memories of a time not yet forgotten, quite possibly never forgiven. All in all, however, it was promising- a tentative sliver of hope for someone who has been long without it. Yet it is not so much what my first day of college was; it is what it wasn’t. What is most important to me is not what I had for lunch or who my new biology professor turned out to be; it is taking a close look at the past, to see if I can put it behind me; it is seeing if I can use the present to evolve into a person I’ll be proud of in the future. Answers to these questions will be necessary if I am to make the most of this first day. Without them, it can be summed up in four words: a waste of time.

‘I am older now,’ was my silent battle cry as I walked the halls, the kinds of halls I hadn’t set eyes on in eight years. My emotions conflicted constantly; excitement, trepidation, anger, dread, and outright panic battled for the spotlight, each insisting their role was the most important. How I’d convinced myself to go waltzing back into the lions’ den was beyond me. I tried falling back on all the logical reasons that led to this day, but to no avail. Solace was not to be found; though, since then I have felt it approach, a cautious deer to the saltlick.

I am older, now. My late teens and early twenties saw nothing of the classroom, which, at the time, was perfectly fine by me. But the invincibility of youth wore off, and at twenty-five years of age the overwhelming feeling of stagnation finally brought me back- the desire not to waste any more time than I already had, not to atrophy in an existence comprised of work I didn’t want to do, food I didn’t want to eat, and sleep from which I didn’t want to wake- the desire not to relegate the rest of my life to only dreaming about the dreams that I, at this point, still had the potential to realize.

I was well aware, however, of the cost that would be exacted if I were to follow through with these plans. Security, comfort, and the familiar would have to be tendered in order to achieve success, most likely along with my happiness and self esteem (what little of them I had). The risks were simply too great to subject myself to a way of life that I wouldn’t be able to handle anyway, all for an outcome that could only be guessed at. No, I’ll stick to my nine-to-five, thank you very much.

My memories of the classroom were more nightmares than anything else- more haunted whip-cracks of recollection than warm, nostalgic fuzzies. Middle school and early high school saw me as a chubby, awkward bookworm, wrapped in glasses and pre-pubescence. My clothes told everyone I was poor, my downcast eyes told everyone I was theirs for the beating, and my behavior told everyone that I would give anything to be anywhere but here- that I would give anything to be anyone but me. A high school teacher once told me that if you were told something enough times- even if it’s that the sun rises in the west and sets in the east- you would believe it. This seemed awfully silly to me at the time. It was only years later that, while pondering this theory one introspective afternoon, I began to consider the things that I, personally, had been told all of the time- that I was too fat, too short, too stupid, too quiet, too ugly, too different, that I was nothing, a waste, a loser, an idiot, a weakling, a b*****d- ad nauseam, ad infinitum, for years and years, over and over and over again.

Did I believe them? Oh, I believed them, all right. I’d never known myself to be anything but. It had been so ingrained in me that it seemed they were just confirming what I’d already known to be true. Back then I believed that’s who I was. The fact that they’d made me that way had never crossed my mind. With thoughts of suicide more frequent and inviting, I had had no idea that it was they who’d convinced me I wouldn’t be missed.

As I said, it is what my first day of college wasn’t; it wasn’t a day filled with jeers, with pointing and laughing, with names and beatings. People smiled; they were polite; they were helpful. What happened, you ask? Why wasn’t everyone violent, cruel, and abusive, the way I remember them (hate them for) being, the way I expected (dreaded) them to be? Not because the potential isn’t there, I assure you. No, it is simply because I am older now. It is because I walked into this new place with a clean slate, where no one knows me from Adam. I am not surprised by this outcome; I am encouraged by it. But I will always remain wary, ever the deer an eye-blink from bolting.

It is the fear inside me that has kept me from this day for over eight years. It is the fear that looks for the worst in people, that waits for it, that insists that it’s coming- it is the gibbering madman of past experience who hides inside the darkest corner of my heart, who doesn’t know what he’s going to do when he is faced with it again (and he will be faced with it again), who honestly believes that his only recourse will be to rid the world of that which they detest so much: himself. But I put my faith in the belief that someday he will realize that every one of them was wrong; that he is in fact a good man, with a lot of love to give, who may yet rise to greatness.

Have I put my past behind me? No, not yet. Am I using the present to become someone I’ll be proud of? I think so. I think I can safely say that what my first day wasn’t was a waste of time. In order to ensure it remains that way, does this mean I have to wake up tomorrow, swallow my fear, and again face the lions? Much to my dismay, yes.

Why? Why go back into the lions’ den, covered as I am in the blood of my past, when the price of doing so is so great, when the potential losses would be unbearable? Because I would rather die by the lions than continue living with my fear of them.

 

 

 

 

Walker Kornfeld

9/04

Author's Note

Constructive comments welcome. Thanks for your time.

Reviews

[SweetPeachesAlways]

My clothes told everyone I was poor, my downcast eyes told everyone I was theirs for the beating, and my behavior told everyone that I would give anything to be anywhere but here- that I would give anything to be anyone but me. - How poignantly touching...I could feel this gliding over my very skin...

Because I would rather die by the lions than continue living with my fear of them.
- A man of courage...truly admirable. -

Great write! Loved it and, oh yeah, going in my Favorites, for certain!

[Angel's Lady]

Why go back into the lions' den, covered as I am in the blood of my past, when the price of doing so is so great, when the potential losses would be unbearable? Because I would rather die by the lions than continue living with my fear of them.

Perfect ending! Still love this! Even though it has been five months since I read it the first time! And I captured it in my favorites again! ;)
All my best, G.