Greatness?

William Shakespeare wrote, "Be not afraid of greatness: some are born great, some achieve greatness and some have greatness thrust upon them." The other pale, shadow lurking group that he neglected to touch upon is the one that hikes up their dainty skirts (or their becoming set of short pants, in my mind it's always short pants) and run at the first sign of greatness. This is the rather scant questionable section that I mingle with. That is if we weren't so bloody busy being terrified and actually took a bit of time aside to congregate. By congregate I truly imply sitting, rocking in a manic fashion, stroking one anothers' idiosyncrasies and boundless excuses draped in twisted reason.
It seems that I am a class A runner. I've done it before and assume with my tarnished track record there is most definitely another sprint left in me. I can't actually explain why. I am not so afraid of failing. My turbulent life was been riddled with failure, days hardly pass without being heavily steeped in that reality. I have drank my fill of failure and wonder if my mind is able to process much else. That is not to say my life is without loveliness or merit. I believe in day dreams and I eternally long for rainbows, although in muted shades of grey and brilliant splashes of scarlet, lay off it is my rainbow after all go pollute your own mental dalliances with indigo and yellow. That being said, running from succees has never held me back, simply safely to the side. I forage through that hardly able to digest much else. Hardly having seen otherwise in my youth to ever notice the dysfunction in it.
No, I can not say that it is the fear of failing that holds be back or forces me ahead at break neck speeds blurring my mind to stay the trembling, neurotic panic of my body. If I had to face it down. Stare eye to eye with what chokes my soul and numbs me it would have to be actual greatness. Success. Now this is a beast that I can not define. I can't describe, title or blanket it in delicate words to explain its origin or effect. The concept rocks my core, suffocates me. Why? I suppose when one is so constructed of such fragile mettle, balancing on all that can be reasoned, expected, and tolerated it becomes a feat to feast on something new. How will the ideas fit into my brain? What will become of the words that I cling to, the hurt I use as sustenance? Who would I be if I ever became somebody? Would the shadows that I find comfort in lose their appeal? How would my rainbow look if they greys slipped away, would I even recognize it? What would become of all the indelicate tiny fragments that I am comprised of?
Although I despise my own reflection, I am certain of who that jaded little bit of flesh is that peers back at me. I know what hides behind the green eyes and the pallid skin. I understand the uneven beating of her heart and the great discipline it has taken for her to preserve ever minuscule stitch that holds it together. What if i fall into this unknown abyss perceived as "greatness" will I make it to the other side whole and unscathed? Would I want to? This my friends is a thing to truly be terrified by.