"Anxiety/Fear."
Alejandro.
Atleast she asked the question in a polite manner instead of having her claws at me. I'm always shit-scared.
I know I'm scared when those old fears run through my head, when I hear the taunting laughter of years past, when I was high and mighty and had no direction. I know I'm scared when these bad memories cut loose their chains and invade my confidence, eroding the person I have built since those dark days. The fear comes most when I'm tired and flees in the nighttime, vanquished by the time I awake. So when my thoughts tumble into that abyss and the rope ladders burn, I just want to put down my phone, turn off my computer too, and curl up into Isis, where it's dark and warm. She's my dream. For my dreams are my helicopter, my dream-self is the pilot, and she's waiting to take me out of here the moment I let it all go.
"Let's get home and then we'll talk. I want to show you something."
