Fear knows no middle ground. There is only room for one outcome. There is only loneliness. There is only pain. There is only the road that leads you back to the past. The one where you are lying on the floor. In angst. Wishing you were anyone other than who you are.

Fear taunts me. It calls me foolish. It pulls me into its spiral. It gets me to say things I regret. It encourages me to act against my best interest.

Fear has taught me to apologize for who I am. To hide the parts I’m ashamed of. To display the ones you will find acceptable.

Fear is physical. Fear is gut-wrenching. Fear is panic. I feel it in my throat. I hold my breath.

Fear is date 4. It is when I allow myself to feel hope only to be met with disappointment. It is when I begin picturing a future with you in it at the same time as you schedule your next date with someone else. I lower my guard in time to watch you walk away without a reason. In other words, it is when it falls apart.

This is on my mind because I am back at date 4 with a man I like. A man I could picture myself with.

But we had plans and they did not happen. And here I am, back under water, trying to catch my breath. The waves keep coming and I desperately look for something to hold onto.

I feel this way all because plans changed.

I understand this may not seem rational, but fear is not rational. Fear sees no future, only the past recreating itself.

Fear is hell on Earth, and it can prevent you from living. You may as well be in actual hell.

As you know, my fear manifests as anxiety, obsessive compulsive disorder, and bulimia. I latch on to that which I can control (only to discover that if you repeat certain behaviors enough they actually control you).

I could easily be engaging in any of those fun activities that would help me pass the hours of the night. It came close. I ate half a cookie when it could have been the entire box. Instead, I am choosing to write and that, for me, is progress.

You see, I’ve realized something about things that stay hidden. They just grow. So even though this is uncomfortable, I need you to know these parts of me. I need to say these words so they lose their strength.

I fear death. My own and the deaths of those I love.  In response, I seek control.

I fear being alone. In response, I fill my time with the company of others even when they are not deserving of it.

I fear I am forgettable. In response, I crave success and perfection if it will make you notice me.

I fear I am not enough (of the desirable things) and too much (of the bad things). In response, I am constantly trying to fix myself and recalibrate.

I fear I am unlovable. In response, I look for validation, sometimes in all the wrong places.

Right now, I want to reach out to the man I’ve gone on a couple dates with and either apologize on behalf of myself or be antagonistic in hopes of pushing him away.

I, also, wouldn’t mind drowning these thoughts with cookies or maybe the coconut chocolate chip ice cream sitting in my freezer.

If I’m really feeling wild, I could do all of the above.

Tonight, I won’t do any of this. I can make no promises about all the days to come, but for now I see it for what it is. It is fear and I’m going to put on my big girl pants and feel it.

Cue ‘Zombie’ by The Cranberries