I am afraid.
Because I remember my life, every second.
I don’t know what’s going to happen anytime.
To most others, this is life, this is being alive.
But I’m not normal.
I never was.
Every day I have to wonder what it is.
There is always an “x”.
I am.
X.
Fear rests in my mind.
Not in the darkest places, like most people’s.
In the front, where ironically, nobody can see it pounding behind my eyes.
This fear is the worst kind.
Pure and untouched.
Fear itself, not narrowed to the heights, snakes, spiders, whatever.
The kind of fear that neither shakes or falls for anything.
The kind that makes your dreams bow and your eyes turn bloodshot.
The one that throws competition to the ground.
Shakes you to contain, and always a secret that you’ll never even whisper alone.
You don’t cry.
You don’t fight.
You don’t speak.
You just listen to thoughts it provides, calling forward your imagination and pushing logic to the back of your mind.
The fear of the kind that in an infinite number of your suddenly limited words you couldn’t describe or define with anything.
The one that turns you against yourself and tears you apart because it sits.
In the front, there is nothing you can do because it can’t get up, the one thing it can’t do.
It whispers in suggestion to your thoughts.
Coddles you when you realize you know it best.
Buries you when you start to think it knows you best.
X. x.
