This week, I decided to expose a fear of mine to the world.
Because that’s what writing is about, it’s about putting your emotions into words. And fear of things is one of our primal, and perhaps the strongest emotion. I would be lie to myself – and to my few, precious readers – if I claimed to be the only mortal without any fear. I have a handful of them, trust me.
One of them is being alone. Or lonely.
Does that make it fears and not fear? I am yet to make up my mind on that. I understand that the two are not synonymous. I feel lonely when I’m in a class of a hundred students, and not with a good book and a cup of coffee. However, I am afraid of both loneliness and being alone, and I know these fears are very well interlinked. I don’t know when they appeared, but I have been dealing with them for a while now. I assume that the people I am closest to are aware about this, but I am extremely uncomfortable to talk about it explicitly.
I am scared of being alone. Because, hello, who will then have the responsibility (and most certainly, the privilege) to look under the bed and inside the closet for monsters? Most of all, who will I turn to in my moment(s) of weakness and huggle with? I am scared of getting to a point in my life where I will look around myself and find no one who I can smile at, and probably talk to about last night’s episode of our favourite show.
I am scared of being lonely, because I am scared that as people move away, space away from me, I will feel close to nobody. Worse yet, nobody would want to be close to me. There’ll be a physical as well as psychological distance, and both of them together tend to be venomous. Perhaps this is a reflection of my dwindling sense of self-confidence, but the way I see the, the odds are in favour of my future being something similar to my worst fears.
Which in turn, enables my fears to choke me more by the moment.