Whispers of Fear

"I'm fucking terrified", I confessed to myself, to the wall, to nothing, as tears crawled down my cheeks and stained the ivory windowsill. The clouds seemed to be crying with me,

while the day slowly turned darker and I grew wearier.

He'd cracked me. He'd managed to get past the wall that I once thought was titanium. Managed to realise that despite my apparent confidence, my stupid, oblivious happiness, I was hiding something. I wasn't different, I was just another clichê of a person– hiding under a mask, keeping something from the world. It seems to be yet another human flaw after all. The need, the requirement of having a secret, of having an insecurity, of having something that prevents you from being stupidly happy every day.

I banged my fist into the wall, unknowingly crumpling an award I'd proudly taped on there a few months ago. I wasn't depressed. I wasn't insane. I was just lost? Confused? Out of my mind terrified? Maybe all three. Maybe none. I sighed, wiping the tears off with a sudden stroke of my thumb. I simply hated the fact that he'd gotten through. That he'd seen it. That he potentially could see more and was going to see more.

It wasn't that I didn't trust him. I did. I probably trusted him more than anyone else on this corrupted planet. Yet I'm selfish enough to want to keep my problems to myself, to want to create this image that I was unbreakable, that my life was an open book to anyone and everyone. I wanted to be just another clever person that did things well, had great friends and lived a happy life. Did I have my aspirations? My ambitions? Yes, of course I did. I also had my own morals that were set in stone so roughly no one could ever question why they were there in the first place and suspect there was more to my answers. No one but him.

That's when the possibility appeared. The possibility of being stripped of the morals I'd carved so deep into my skin. What would I possibly be without them? I'd be succumbing to my greatest fear if I ever let him see it all, if I ever let him crack more than a mere fraction of the entire code. Yet, I can't bring myself to kick him out.

I don't need saving. I don't need redemption. But even so, I live through those endless nights with nothing but fear breaching through the walls I put up the same way a sheet of paper lives through a thunderstorm. I don't know what to blame, much less why it happens. I just know day after day I grow more terrified. Be it of finally being raw and entirely open, of getting closer to making the decision that will define whether I'll leave home or not or of being alone again and truly going back to being nothing but a madwoman, staring at the ceiling while she contemplates ways of ruin, the mascara nothing but a stain underneath her eyes while her breathing remained steady and no one gave a damn at all. Okay, maybe not entirely no one, but while the most important person just gave up.

If I was supposed to be my own saviour, why was I so desperate for company? Why was I relying so much on others? Why was I suddenly putting ignorant people who couldn't care less whether my heart kept beating in front of me? Whatever happened to the person that was left alone because of how selfish she was? Whatever happened to the girl that stood up for herself so often no one even dared to whisper one complaint?

It's not that I don't like myself. I do. I actually find myself quite wonderful. But I'm scared that the way I'm going, the way I'm holding myself up, clinging to the idea that I won't feel the sort of pain most of us do, that my self-esteem would save me from it all; it'd be the end of me. Yet most of all, I'm terrified someone, or just him, will find out why and never look at me the same way. Especially since I don't even know the reason myself.