It scares me every time my mother tells me she doesn’t worry about me, that she knows I always figure it out. I’m scared of the day I won’t be able to…

I’m scared that there will always be this part of me that is empty. It creeps into my thoughts every once in a while, reminding me of the desolation I spent so many years living in.

I’m scared of happiness sometimes. I’m scared it will be stripped away. I’m scared I’ll strip it from myself.

I’m scared of love. I’m scared that I love more than I am loved. It makes me feel alone.

I’m scared of falling in love with her. My heart is so young, yet feels so old. The world has been a disappointing place.

I’m scared that the greatness everyone says they see in me is nothing more than my ability to con my way through life. I don’t think it can ever exist within me.

I’m scared of what others will think when I reveal my deepest thoughts, it is why my book keeps stalling out.

I’m scared of people writing their opinions about my fears. I rarely look for answers, just looking for a place to lay my questions.

I’m scared she’ll love me more than I’ll love her. I’m afraid of the girl who once was able to feel that; that girl did more damage than any knife could.

I’m scared of the day where I can’t stop the pain. Who will stop me?

I’m scared of staying put. The world is too painful for me to live within a moment for far too long.

I’m scared she’ll leave once she knows who I once was. So many say that a person doesn’t ever really change. I’m scared she’ll believe them over me.

Most of all…I’m scared of the day when I’m no longer afraid…because I think that will be the day I cease to exist.