My biggest weakness is my fear of confrontation. I am so afraid, that I even don’t want to confront myself. I think the reason is because I never found out what my problem is. My problem is not many, but is deep. It is like a well—narrow, dark, and the depth is unknown. I am afraid of going in, and not able to go out. I am afraid of knowing its depth. I am afraid of all the things I can’t see in the darkness. I fear my fear. I cry for that fear. I am weak for my weakness. Entrapped in the circles and paradoxes, I cry—not cried, because I’m still crying.
I am afraid of the thoughts I have at night before my sleep. Thoughts that send me under the blanket, forcing my eyes closed. Thoughts that make my fingers cold every time they slip of my blanket. I am afraid of thinking my day. So afraid, I wish I don’t need to have a day. I end my day fast, before something goes wrong. When my day lasts longer, I come home with my anxiety riding on my back like a little kid who is too heavy, but I’m afraid to drop. I cry without tears because I don’t actually know how I feel. To know is to go into the well. Scary as hell.