I’m scared of a lot of things. I know you do not know this because I never show you. I know you do not know this because you have never asked, because I have never shown you fear.
I’m scared of myself. I’m scared of the thoughts within my head and how sometimes they can manipulate fiction into reality so I start to feel and see things that do not really exist. But do they really not exist if your mind has created them? I have heard that the mind only forms things it has seen or heard of before. It does not create new things.
I’m scared of lovers opening up to me. Mostly because I do not know what to do with all their hurt, anger and joys once they are gone. What happens when you have a chest full of stories that do not belong to you? Where do you place it all once they are gone? So I don’t ask questions. Rule number one: never ask questions about who they are. I take the parts of people I am given, hoping that it does not come with their pasts.
I am scared of not being accepted. Scared of letting people know how trapped I feel in my head. That I feel claustrophobic in this life. I am scared to tell my lovers that I have a nomadic mind, a fleeting heart and trembling emotions. I find myself wanting to leave, to run, to hide.
Today has been hard. It has been one of those days where I wanted to disappear off the face of the earth, just for a couple of minutes, hours, days. Not forever, just for a little while. Every now and again I just want to disappear. I am scared that one day I really will get up and go. Just me and all the stories of people that I have accumulated over the years.