When Fear Breaks

From Tremor To Fury

Abused patience turns to fury.

Thomas Fuller

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From Tremor To Fury



I felt it first like a whisper,
   soft as a sigh, slipping under the door.
A breath on my neck, a shadow in the mirror,
   I let it crawl in—invited it, even.
I let it wrap itself around my ribs,
   its cold fingers playing my bones
      like an old song I’d forgotten the words to.

I let it stay.

I sank into its dark corners,
   drank deep from its well,
      let the black ink flood my veins,
         until I was the thing in the mirror,
            until I was more shadow than light.

I called it home.

Let it spin its web,
   thread its fear through my flesh—
      not to conquer, but to know.
Every twitch, every tremor,
   until my body became its echo,
      until I grew tired of trembling.

Familiar now, it sleeps at my feet,
   a wolf I’ve raised from a pup.

But oh, how it enrages me.

There is fire beneath this skin,
   and fear cannot breathe in the flames.
It cracks, it shrinks,
   and I rise up, eyes wide with fury,
      no longer hiding, no longer small.

I step toward it now, bare hands,
   teeth bared in a wicked grin,
      and I whisper to the beast,

“I’m done.”

Done with your cold, done with your chains,
   done with the trembling in my chest.
I’ve worn you long enough,
   and I’m not afraid anymore.

Now, I’ll fight.

Fury

I felt it creep in slowly, like a whisper, so soft I almost missed it. Isn’t that how it always starts? Subtle, unassuming, a gentle nudge at the edges of your mind until it becomes something you let in, something you almost welcome. I didn’t fight it. I didn’t even hesitate.

Instead, I let it slip under the door and wrap itself around me, cold and familiar, like a song you know too well but have forgotten the words to. It wrapped tighter, and though I could feel its weight, I let it stay.

Why fight it when it’s easier to let it curl inside you, make a home of your ribs, and play your bones like an instrument you don’t even recognize anymore?

That’s the funny thing about suffering—it doesn’t announce itself with a roar. It seeps in, drip by drip, until you’re soaking in it and can’t remember a time when you weren’t. I sank into it, deep.

Deeper than I thought I could. I drank from it like it held the answers, like it was some dark well of truth, and maybe in a way, it was. The ink bled into me, and before I knew it, it wasn’t just part of me—it was me.

I looked in the mirror and didn’t even see my reflection anymore. What stared back was a shadow of who I’d been, someone whose light had been swallowed up, leaving nothing but a hollow silhouette.

And I didn’t even care.

I called it home. I let it nest inside me because what else could I do? You can’t outrun it when it’s under your skin. So I let it weave its way through my flesh, threading fear into every twitch, every tremor.

The shaking became second nature, so familiar that I hardly noticed it anymore. I thought that was how it had to be—living in the dark with this thing I had nurtured, raised from nothing until it grew into something I could no longer control.

The wolf. Always there, lying at my feet, eyes open even when I tried to sleep. I raised it myself, didn’t I? From the smallest inkling of doubt to a beast that fed on every thought, every insecurity.

It had its teeth in me long before I realized it. It’s strange how you get used to living with torment. You learn its habits, its rhythms.

You know when it will strike, and sometimes, just sometimes, you think you can control it. But it’s always there, and that quiet rage starts to grow, simmering just beneath the surface.

That fire. It had always been there, waiting. I hadn’t seen it at first, but once I felt it, there was no ignoring it. It didn’t roar, didn’t blaze suddenly. It crept up, a slow burn under my skin, pushing against the darkness.

That’s when I knew the fear couldn’t hold on much longer. It couldn’t breathe in the flames, couldn’t stand against the fury rising up inside me.

I cracked it. Broke it open. Fear shrank, recoiling from the heat, and I stood up—no longer shaking, no longer small. I could feel it now, that power that had always been there, buried deep beneath everything else.

It didn’t matter anymore that I had once let the darkness in. What mattered was that I had something stronger, something fiercer within me.

And now, I’m not afraid to face it. I step toward it with my hands bare, no armor, no defenses, and I smile. Not the soft kind of smile, but the kind that comes with teeth, sharp and ready. I look at the beast I once called home, the thing I had let coil around my bones, and I tell it—I’m done.

I’m done with the cold that seeped into me, done with the chains it wrapped around my heart. Done with the trembling that used to define me. I’ve worn that weight long enough, and I don’t need it anymore. I don’t need the fear. I don’t need the darkness.

I’ll fight now. Not with weapons or words, but with this fire that’s burning hotter every second. I’ll fight because I can, because I know now that the thing I thought had power over me is nothing compared to what I carry inside.

So I stand here, facing it, and I feel alive in a way I never thought I could. The darkness isn’t gone, but it’s small now. So small it doesn’t scare me. Because now, I’m the one with the power.

Agency Over Lies

There’s something I want you to know, something I hope you feel deep in your bones when life gets heavy. Fear is a liar. It’ll tell you you're small, that you're not enough, that you’ll never be more than your mistakes, more than your failures. But I need you to understand that fear is nothing more than noise—a bully that only has the power you give it.

I’ve been tired of fear for a long time. Tired of it creeping in when I’m about to take a step forward, whispering in my ear that I’ll stumble, that I’m not ready. Fear is relentless that way, always showing up when you need courage the most. It thrives on keeping you in place, keeping you held back by its bullshit.

I want you to feel that same exhaustion—tired of letting fear make decisions for you. Tired of letting it tell you no before you’ve even tried. Because the truth is, fear will never go away.

You can’t outrun it, can’t ignore it. It’ll always be lurking in the background, showing up at the worst moments. But what you can do—what I hope you’ll do—is get angry enough to stop listening to it.

You see, fear thrives in the shadows. It loves to whisper from dark corners, convincing you that stepping into the light will hurt. But the more you let it talk, the more control it has. And that’s the real trap—believing that fear is something you have to listen to. It’s not. You’re the one in control.

There’s a moment, and I hope you find it sooner than I did, where you get so fed up with being afraid, so tired of being held back, that you stop giving a damn about what might go wrong.

You get tired of playing small. Tired of looking at yourself in the mirror and seeing nothing but the weight of your own hesitation. And in that moment, everything changes.

Fear doesn’t disappear, but it stops being the one calling the shots. You stop being afraid of failing, of messing up, of not being enough. Because guess what? You’re going to fail.

You’re going to mess up. But those things don’t define you. What defines you is how many times you get back up and say, “Not today, fear. You don’t get to win today.”

What I want more than anything is for you to recognize that fear is nothing compared to what you carry inside. There’s a fire in you, a strength that fear can’t touch, and it’s time to tap into that.

Don’t let fear shrink you. Don’t let it make you small. If you let it, it’ll trap you in a life that’s less than what you deserve. And I can’t stand the thought of that for you.

I want you to fight back. And not with some dramatic, movie-style bravery. No. Fight back by stepping into those moments that scare the hell out of you. Apply for that job you think you won’t get.

Tell someone you love them when you’re not sure they’ll say it back. Take the risk that makes your hands shake. That’s how you fight fear—by doing the things it tells you not to.

And when you feel that fear start to creep in—because it will—I want you to remember that you’ve faced worse. You’ve stood up to the things that tried to break you before, and you’re still standing. That’s what I hope you carry with you.

You’re not just my kid. You’re someone who’s going to take fear by the throat and make it regret ever trying to hold you back. You’ve got everything you need inside you already. You just have to let that fire burn brighter than the shadows fear casts.

I’ll tell you this much—I’m proud of you. I’ve seen you face fear before, even if you didn’t realize that’s what it was. And you’ve won every time, even when you thought you lost. Keep winning. Keep fighting. You’re stronger than fear. Always have been, always will be.

And whenever you doubt that, whenever you start to listen to that voice of hesitation, I want you to remember something. You come from a long line of fighters. We don’t shrink from fear, we don’t let it control us, and neither should you. Fear’s been playing its games long enough. Now it’s your turn to play, and trust me—you’ve got this.

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