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Philophobia

is fear of emotional attachment; fear of being in, or falling in love.

I’m only afraid of not being loved in return and I fear that I’ll only end up getting hurt (agliophobia). But then again, as Bertrand Russell writes in Marriage and Morals (1929: ch. 19):

To fear love is to fear life, and those who fear life are already three parts dead.

 

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Scribblings

3 May 2013, 23:27

I used to walk these hall every day. And every day, I dreaded walking these halls. What would they say? What would they do? Would they measure what I was wearing; how messy my hair was; how little make-up I had on? Never did I walk these halls with my head held high. I looked down. Out of fear. Fear of what might happen if my eyes caught theirs.

            What ya lookin’ at, freak?

I used to walk these halls afraid. I used to look at the floor, at people’s feet. Being back brings back memories, memories that still haunts me in my sleep, memories that turn my dreams to nightmares. Being back is making me wish I didn’t return. It’s too soon. So much has changed, and yet so little. It’s all coming back to me. I remember everything. How I used to hide out in the library. How being around books, especially the old classics – the love stories – became my comfort. My escape.

            Why did I come back for this? Why did I return? These people gave me nothing.

I returned for one reason, and one reason only: to show them I got over it. That no matter how much they tried, they could not break me. I returned to get my revenge. However, now I’m not sure I made the right decision. If I turned around and exited the building, no one would even know I had been here. It would be as it used to be. I would walk these halls as a ghost; a ghost longing for the great escape.

She stopped next to a row of lockers, took a deep breath and decided it wasn’t worth the pain. Instead of entering, she turned around and walked back the way she had come. That’s when she saw him. Her heart picked up the pace; her cheeks started burning. All she wanted was to disappear. Become the freak people didn’t always notice; one among the crowd.

There was only one problem, there was no crowd. He had seen her and she saw recognition in his eyes. Her feet was rooted to the spot. He was walking towards her and she couldn’t move. He looked even better now than he did in high school. College had been good to him and he was handsome in his suit. The closer he got, the more her body was shaking. She was so certain he had seen her. But, instead of saying hello, he walked past her and continued towards the cafeteria. Her heart exploded with pain and anger. She felt hurt. How could he still hate her after all these years?

Why did she come back for this? She should have known nothing good could have come from it. The people here had never given her anything. Her revenge wasn’t worth it. She was still walking these halls as a ghost. What good was revenge if they didn’t notice her – if they didn’t see her?

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Hello, it’s me…

…I was wondering if after all these years you’d like to meet to go over everything. They say that time’s supposed to heal ya, but I ain’t done much healing. Hello, can you hear me? [Hello by Adele]

My deepest apologies but I’ve been living off-the-grid for some time. After I completed my MA dissertation I needed time to heal. I never came back after nine days. When I finally escaped the zone, I found myself prisoned in a new one. Finishing my dissertation completely drained by battery; thwarted my inspiration and I didn’t feel like spending any more time in front of a computer. For while I went back to reading and stopped writing. Fifteen thousand words killed my inspiration. I lost my voice; my inspiration. I forgot how to write. Creating sentences with words was no longer an art I could master.

I’ve been absent for a very long time. I made a promise I couldn’t keep. I fell down a rabbit hole and ended up far away from Wonderland. There was no Queen of Hearts screaming “Off with their heads!”. Neither a rabbit with a pocket watch nor a mad hatter challenging me with his riddles.

Do you know me? Do you know my name? You might think you do but you don’t. If you were to guess: Where do you think I’m from? 

I took the anonymity of the World Wide Web for granted. Thought I could hide. For a moment I thought everyone I knew was reading the words I wrote and published. Paranoia got a hold of me. But I have remained anonymous. My cover has not been blown. You don’t know my name or my story.

There’s no excitement any more. No recognition of the hard work I do. No grades. No evaluation. Just people who think they’re better than me. I want out. I’m counting down the days. Till the end of April, they told me. I’ll hold you to it. Come May, I’ll be gone. I applied for a new job. I got a job interview this week. Hopefully, the outcome will be entirely positive. Edit: I got the job!

Once again I find myself at a crossroad and I don’t know which road to take. Do I go left, right or perhaps I should go straight ahead?

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Summer 2015

Some days people in general just annoy me. People who routinely slam the door shut when leaving or entering the hall. Especially, at five o’clock in the morning. People waiting for the bus but doesn’t move from where they’re standing to let other people pass. Come one people, the bus is huge and red, I don’t think you’re going to miss it. And it’s not going to drive past you if you move one or two steps.

Today, I’m a little bit angry at the world. Everything that could go wrong, has gone wrong this morning. That’s what happens when your woken up three hours before the alarm, just because people haven’t learned to close the door properly; just because some people think they’re the only one who live in this world. Therefore, I’ve decided to do exactly the same when I leave and enter the hall. I’m going to do it just because I can. And because I want to annoy people as much as they annoy me sometimes.

Other than that I’m pretty happy. I’m starting to see the light at the end of the tunnel. Two weeks and three days; I can do it! Why can’t I do it? With a little hard work, long hours in the library, some more work before bedtime (the library is only open till 7 pm) and I’ll be fine. Really. So, what if I don’t have a social life in the following two weeks and three days. This has been the ultimate goal all along. I’d rather work hard and submit something I’m proud of – something I can stand for – instead of thinking I could have done more! As long as I get my coffee, I’ll be fine. Let’s do this.

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Bring me to life

I used to be angry at the world. Music dictated my mood and apathy consumed me. You never saw a smile on my face. If you did, I’ll bet you a 100 quid it was fake. I was a master of disguise. I hid behind masks. I consumed my weight in food and ate the pain away. I died a slow and painful death. Every day a little piece of me died. Because I wasn’t happy. Because I wasn’t alive. I didn’t live my life. I let the past define me and words haunt me. I cried. I screamed. But no one listened. There was no sound. No words. Only silence. Silent screams. 

I wasn’t like the others. Didn’t look like the others. Had different clothes. I used to be fat and insecure. I cried myself to sleep. I was excluded. Wasn’t pretty enough. Wasn’t skinny enough. I stopped trusting. Music and books became my friends. My escape. I consumed the words. Listened till my ears bled. Everywhere I went books and music came with me. Always. Never alone. 

It wasn’t until I moved away from home and started university I felt free. Free from the past. Like the Phoenix I rose from the ashes. I started running. Faster and faster. I tried running from my demons. I tried running away from the storm. Instead, I hit a wall and I fell hard. Down into the dark abyss. Surrounded by darkness I was lost. I was blind and couldn’t see. I pushed too hard. I ran too fast. I lost myself searching for someone else. Something else. I tried to be someone else. But I could only be me. 

I used to be angry at the world. Then I found myself [cliché, I know]. I found a better version of me. I found the golden mean. The desirable middle between two extremes. I continued to run. But stopped running away from the storm and stopped waiting for the storm to pass. Instead, I learned to dance in the rain. I found my place. Started to dream. Worked hard. Lived life. I found my way out. Out of the abyss. Out of darkness. Like the Phoenix I rose from the ashes. 

The past is the past. Life starts now; life is now. If you want to be happy, be… 

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Black filter coffee, please

Now that I’m about to accomplish one dream, I’ve started dreaming about the future again. Come August it’s time to grow up. Get a job and earn some money. Start saving up and sometime, way down the line, buy my own place. Decorate it after searching the web for inspiration; decorate it the way I want.

That’s why I need to get these assignments done.
My future is the only thing that keeps me going
and the only driving force I have left.

Some days there is neither inspiration nor motivation to go on. I’ve had enough. Six years is a long time. Two bachelor’s degrees and come August I hopefully have a master’s degree. Six years of studying. A ton of words read and written. Numerous cups of coffee. All those late nights. Not that many all-nighters. None I think. However, in 154 days – 5 months – it’s the end of an era and the dawn of a new.

How long is it going to take before someone reacts to that car alarm? It’s been sounding off for about 15 minutes now and I’m starting to believe it’s all in my head. But it isn’t. I swear. It happens a lot around here. Car alarms go off all the time.