I’m still wondering. Why so? Is it for I’m simply scared to die?

I don’t remember the scream for being scared when I was born. A good scare sometimes is worth more to a man than good advice, and the courage is just the ability to face the scare. Me? I can’t yet.

Being frightened is an experience I can’t buy. For it, very precious, I suppose. Do I like it? Surely it is my mind-killer, my little death that brings obliteration, a sweet sinister treasure at my total disposal. It seems somehow I need it, as when it comes I live it fully, though recently what scares me comes to pass more speedily than what I hope. Some examples? Solitude continues to scare me, ‘cause it makes me think about love, death, and violence. It forces me to find distraction from anxious, black thoughts, and re-invent myself night and day.

I’m increasingly worried about my future — this since ever -, but now it’s as if I sense it’s because my desert inside has reduced and put me to touch that I can win or lose all in a second.

It still continues to happen that I find myself in dangerous situations which frozen me to death, and when I come out the danger is still there, hiding still, because I abruptly forget where I was and what was the actual causes that paralyzed me, as if they were just a trick of my mind. And this though I presume to have learnt that the real danger is that I have to cope better with my vicious tendency of forgetting my promises. I’m searching for the right tool at least. Anyway, today I will face it, at any cost. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past, I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where it has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain. How to deal with my loneliness then?

I grown up…