Human beings need a lot of things to feel alive. Family . . . Love . . . Sex. But we only need one thing . . . To actually be alive. We need a beating heart. When our heart is threatened . . . we respond in one of two ways. We either run or . . . we attack. There's a scientific term for this: Fight . . . or flight. It's instinct . . . We can't control it. Or can we?Ever since I watched that episode of Grey's Anatomy (best show EVER!) I've gone back and forth on what my attitude is when my heart is threatened. I decided that, obviously, it depends on the threat level - what's at stake.
Instinctively, I think I'm a fighter. I remember a couple of years back - all the forces against me, all the shaking heads... all the signs telling me to get the hell out and flee. Looking back, I really don't think I could be happy right now had I fleed. Sure, I told myself countless (countless) times to turn away and run but my heart, the very thing I should have fleed to protect, wouldn't let me.
I couldn't not be a fighter. I don't want to be that person who turns a blind eye to obvious problems, the fool that forever hopes that it'll all be okay if I gave it time, the person who runs away from relationships because the slightest chance that my heart's going to suffer - the closer I get - scares me.
I want to know I've done all I can, even though my heart is at risk of getting battered even more. Fighting means there's a chance I'll lose.
I'm an optimist.
I focus on the potential gain... whether it be a broken heart that knows the truth, or ...... more, much more.
In some situations though, I have to flee... I have to be ignorant. Ironically, flight is often part of the fighting strategy.