Journal 1. 11.24.15

I'm scared of loving someone for who they are and not what I created them to be. I'm scared of the fact that I'm easily loved and don't love back. I'm scared of horses and pills and big bodies of water. I'm scared of Satan and demons and darkness. I'm scared of losing my father and my future children one day seeing me crippled by an addiction. I'm scared that one day, I won't be a mother, but rather a woman with kids and a lot of bad habits. I'm scared of my socks not matching and brushing my teeth too much or too little. I'm scared of becoming emotionally attached and sexually distant. I'm scared of myself and I'm scared that one day I won't be able to get out of bed. I'm scared of returning to a psychiatric hospital and the other patients there. I'm scared of losing my artistic abilities because it's my identity. I'm scared of having more than a sexual relationship and even more scared that it won't ever be a possibility for me to have more. I'm scared of ants and small children and large men and dirty needles. I'm scared of hair in my food and maggots on the floor. I'm scared the world is musically inept and even more bothered by the fact that I don't do anything to change it. I'm scared of being a bad writer and losing my love for it. I'm scared of someone slipping their hands under my daughter's nightgown and I'm terrified that she'll be too confused to tell me. I'm scared of being alone. But most prominently, I'm scared of being happy.