I’ve had trouble writing my stories, painting my pictures, singing my songs. There was some unstoppable force pushing me down as the walls caved in. It wasn’t until I saw the face of my attacker that the walls began to retract. The face was my own. Yes, I am my own worst enemy. It has been said, it has been acknowledged, but not accepted. What stopped me from doing the things I love so much? Fear of failure. Failure to whom? Myself. No one would know if I had failed because they had no way of knowing where I was going. No way of understanding where I’d been, or what I’d done. Any attempts of doing so therein were quickly and efficiently disposed of, under the judgmental justification that people would not understand: I am my own enemy and I fear my enemy. These stories, pictures, songs are all glimpses into my soul, windows to my conscious and subconscious. Not only was I afraid of exposing myself to the world, of letting all my secrets out, but I was terrified of what I would discover in myself. Well I found it, and I like it. I’m not afraid of me anymore, and soon I will not be afraid of you.