help i'm alive.

I don’t like scary movies. The thrill never finds me. I’m sitting there with popcorn in my lap fighting an anxiety attack and dreading the nightmares that will appear as soon as my eyes are closed for long enough as I’m holding my breath and clinching my body so I don’t jump when someone or something appears out of nowhere. So, I don’t watch them.

In my real life, I can conjure up plenty of scary stories of my own without even closing my eyes. Paranoid as I’m walking to my car at night (probably not entirely a bad thing). Being as still as I can in bed as I hear a sound on the other end of the house. Basically keep a running list of worst-case scenarios going at all times, sometimes breathing through a potential anxiety attack  and clinching my body to not be detected if something or someone appears out of nowhere. 

Paralyzed by the potential of something happening. Anything. And, how I will handle it.

A few days ago my defenses were dulled by a few too many drinks and I found myself cornered. Drilled by an endless onslaught of questions with no direct line connecting them and having to explain myself all while dark, brooding tones hummed in the background. I sank lower and lower into the couch that was my only hiding spot to not be seen and to try to not be heard.

I’m still not sure what was trying to be uncovered, but I’ve also never felt more seen when the interrogator relented momentarily by saying “So, you’re afraid of what you want the most.”

Fuck.

The air got sucked right out of me.

I spend so much time fearing the future and holding my breath in the present that I’m not actually making any movements, much less sudden ones. Paralyzed by an ever-growing list of imaginary “what-ifs” that actually would never even come close to killing me. 

I’ve stopped even imagining what the future would look like because I’m so scared of what won’t be there. I’ve started to make those things that I used to push so hard for secrets that I bury and fear anyone finding.

I stopped asking the questions I was scared of the answers to.I stopped putting myself in situations I wasn’t sure of the escape route. I’d gotten pretty good at making myself undetectable. 

And then, someone started digging.

I slipped up. I did all of those things. I’ve been found out. But, I’m still alive and maybe more so?

There’s really nowhere left to hide, and for the first time in a long time, I don't really see the point in it anyway. The thrills weren’t finding me.

There’s nothing scarier than doing nothing.I buried myself alive to prevent something else from killing me while allowing this overwhelming fear of failure or rejection or transparency or just being uncomfortable actually kill me.

What a plot twist.

There could be a cloud of dust following me as I walk my haggard ass out of this graveyard and step over the graves of all of the other bullshit I buried there. I’ll still be a little jumpy. I’ll definitely look over my shoulder a few too many times. Hold my breath as I wait for something to materialize. But, I’m not afraid anymore.