Fear of Self

I'm so frightened to be me.

The silence is too unnerving, and often I can't think.  Can't write.  I don't want to be alone all the time, it reminds me of my childhood, in an empty room or house, with books.  Any time that I'd go back to school I'd be breathless and excited, overjoyed to be surrounded by people my own age, who I could share jokes with.  Who I could speak with, whilst realising that underneath all this verve and sarcasm, I was very different.  I was dark underneath it, and that something like an exploded shadow seemed to follow me.  Seemed to be with(in) me.

And now I'm alone again.  And I'm falling into the idea of it, now that I live in a terrible boarding house, with awful facilities and a room that resembles a prison cell, I'm tumbling into this existence.

I'm still so frightened.

Single serving existences frighten me.  

I can't find enough things to do with my time, I'm running out of time to complete my manuscript, I'm so terribly frightened that it's all going to go wrong.  

So frightened.