I’ve always carried fear. Until recently, I was slowly being crushed by the weight, my arms completely full. Now, it’s still lingers but it’s tucked into my pocket, still easily reachable, but only when I truly need it. Fear protected me from getting hurt, both physically and mentally. Of course, fear is a natural feeling that is programmed into us to prevent us from danger, but I couldn’t control it. Anytime someone started getting close to me, the feeling of vulnerability immediately pulled me away. It stood guard, shielding me from all the feelings associated with pain but it had brought me to my knees, struggling to defeat it’s heavy weight, which left my arms aching. It was my decision to go hand and hand with fear, not looking back. I decided I would rather inflict pain on myself, instead of letting someone else do it. It was a strange form of control in which I was able to filter what I felt inside. I pretended that nobody could hurt me. I put on an image of confidence, never letting anyone see me in a manor that it seemed as If I needed help. Nobody saw me cry and nobody saw me hurting. I felt like it would expose how weak I really was and I refused to be seen as breakable. My front was strong and independent when really I was scared out of my mind. Failure was one of my greatest fears, and no one had any idea what a perfectionist I really was. I stopped putting forth effort in fear of failure. I would rather not try and fail, then try and fail. I didn’t take the risks though I was always told with risks come the possibility of success, but I didn’t believe it. Fear was my only friend and the only one I trusted. It restrained me even after I had surrendered. You might not think it would be comfortable, but like my depression, it became my normality. After letting fear overcome you for so long, you forget what it’s like to be without it. You forget what it’s like to hope and you forget what it’s like being rewarded. What once I strived for now was awkward and confusing? Whenever good would happen, it was always followed by the opposite, which affected me more. Growing up, my trust was broken very early and I learned that I could only trust myself. After all, if the people who shared my blood couldn’t be trusted, who was left? Best friends were deceiving and family lied. I was alone and I was scared. I decided I was done of getting hurt and I was exhausted from the seemingly never- -ending fight against the possibilities. As far as I was concerned, the outcome was never positive. It took a long time for me to drop my fear that I carried heavily. Watching it shatter onto the ground beneath me, I felt alone once again. As I looked up, I finally realized that I wasn’t alone.