The Runaway

Some of you have been asking how I've been doing lately. A handful of you ask if I'm happy. A lot of you ask me if I'm still sad, or about the last time I was sad. And I'm pretty sure a few of you are hoping I'm one sappy movie away from emotional suicide. Sorry, but I'm not. But if you really wanna know? Like really wanna know how I feel? I'll tell you.

I AM FUCKING SCARED. Terrified.

Not scared that I'll never find someone and grow old alone, but scared that when he comes to me, I'll find a way to fuck it all up. I'm getting anxiety right now just typing about it. I'm scared that I'll meet an awesome dude with a good job and own spot that makes me smile and feel special, but a not-so awesome experience from my past won't allow myself to let that shit happen. That I'll freak out and OD on crazy pills. That I'll forever be jaded. That I'll keep making excuses and actually start believing them. But most of all I'm scared that I'll scare them away.

My girl told me to just roll with it. I told her that I didn't know how to "roll," only run. As in for the hills, far, far away from even the slightest possibility of getting hurt. Unfortunately, also far, far away from the possibility of being happy.

They say you gotta take risk when it comes to love. I've done that. PLENTY of times. I really don't need to take anymore. I could live with the "What ifs?" I promise. So until I find a good, clean anchor within myself, I'm just gonna keep running until I meet someone that can keep up ... or at least cares enough to grab me by my shoulders (gently now I bruise easily!), hold me the fuck down, look into my eyes, and tell me "You ain't going nowhere sweetie."