Afraid So

I'm definitely afraid.

I'm afraid that I won't find the right things to say.  I'm afraid that when I do, it'll all go unsaid.  I'm afraid that you'll never know what I really think because I'm afraid of telling anyone what I really think.

I'm scared of having to iron anything with pleats.  I just don't have the hands for that like my mother does.  I'm scared that I will won't end up like my mother.

I'm afraid of rejection.  Even though it's nothing unfamiliar.

I'm scared that my butt will get bigger.  I mean, I'm already insecure about it.

I'm afraid of hurting someone, again.  I'm afraid of being hurt, again.

I'm seriously scared of bees.  Like, I really think I have some kind of anxiety disorder because of it.  Just the thought of one or of anything even remotely related to one sends my heart into an uneven frenzy.  But in a bad way.

I'm afraid of telling my secrets.  I don't have that many left and I'm afraid that if I let them all escape, I'll have nothing that's mine.  I won't have anything to hold against them or anything to make me feel like I actually have the upper hand for once.

I'm scared of people touching my neck.  I really, really don't want to be strangled.

I'm afraid of losing it someday.  I'm afraid that I'll have one of my rare panic attacks in the middle of the hallway and that someone will look at me with pitying eyes and that I'll be so completely embarrassed.

I'm scared of the dark sometimes.  And silence.  I hope my husband won't mind me falling asleep to sitcoms or Brandi Carlile.

I'm afraid of being vulnerable because I just can't bear it when people get all sentimental at me.  I really don't like people discussing my problems with me.  I like to keep those all to myself.  I don't want anyone to butt in.

I'm scared that people might start to think that 'butt' is my favorite word after reading my blog.  It's not.  Well, sometimes.  (I have a lot of brothers.)

I'm afraid that I'm leaving this at a really awkward spot.  No style or grace.