.

I’m scared. Terrified, even.

Not just of the dark or ghosts—

I’m scared of existing, of feeling, of connecting.

I’m a coward.

I admit it.

Even the thought of facing something that might hurt me or change me leaves me frozen.

That’s why I hide in sadness, in loneliness, in that quiet place where nothing can really reach me.

No surprises. No heartbreak. Just the dull, familiar silence.

I’m afraid of being truly known,

because if someone really sees me, they might walk away.

So I always leave first.

I push people away before they get the chance to break me.

I’d rather disappear than be forgotten.

I’m scared of fixing what’s broken inside me.

I’m scared that I’ll fail—

or worse, that some parts of me are just unfixable.

So I run. I shut down. I drift further away.

I don’t know how to stop being afraid.

But at least this time,

I’m saying it out loud.