and one day I will

Fear, yes, I know it. I've used and abused it, manipulated the word, turned it against others, but the way I've used it doesn't compare to how it used me. He's almost brilliant, bending people's minds in his own maniacal game. There's no point to his game, but that's the brilliance, how he warps personalities, can change people for the better or the worst, and make us this that it's all for something, when he's just having his fill of fun.

When he found me, when Fear found me, he laughed with glee, for I could be another pawn for his game of chess. He licked his lips and grasped my hand in his firmly, whispering the dangers of the world, and I let him fill my mind. He was the one I thought of endlessly, the one that knew me better than I did. I can't remember the exact time he found me, but I know where it was; oh do I know it, well.  

I've never been one to call myself pretty, but I know I wasn't ugly. I was always told that blue and green eyes were something that were envied, and, lucky me, mine change from blue to green when they please. I was a normal weight, and I may have an odd nose, but all around, I wasn't beautiful, not ugly, not one to stand out. But, I did, like a weed among flowers. Maybe it's how I talk nonsense, faster than I can think it, or how I would speak of spiders like friends, ones with a unique beauty and ability. Maybe…maybe that's why fear loves me so much, why he never leaves me, has been my most faithful companion, through thick and thin, when no one else was.

Do you want to know what Fear brought me, what pain he's so zealously thrust upon me?


Nobody looks at me without my chest tightening.


Nobody can touch me without me flinching.


I've forced myself to push it down as to simply have friends, but some scars SIMPLY DON'T HEAL. I tried dating, the kid touched my arm and I flinched.

He called me pretty and I said that he lied.

Sometimes I don't feel it at all, like Fear took a break, and sometimes the people that I've become used to even get me with the simplest look, yet I'm not afraid to look people in the eye when picking a fight, when speaking on stage. It's almost as if I'm scared of them caring, because I KNOW deep in my heart that if I let them know I care back they will push me into lockers.

I've had this happen, and I just can't let it happen again. I'm a weak person, I've realized.

I understand.

I can't get over things, people have tried to help, but it doesn't.

I have a fear of the whole damned human race.

I ENVY people with achluphobia, or cynophobia, or whatever other fears are floating around. Mine may not be the worse, but I'd give an arm and a leg to be able to just…be…touched. I just want to once be caressed and not push it away. I want to be warm to people strait off the bat, instead of taking so long to warm up to them.


Dear Fear, I hate you…


and though,

it won't happen today,

and probably not tomorrow,

I'll be able to send you away, and it will be my turn to laugh, my turn to shine...

and that will be the day I will face my fears.