Sir and I are dating now, after a wonderful weekend of cuddles and cooking and chocolate chip cookies and Halloween movies and shopping and being sick and moans and blushes and presents. It was his birthday. He asked me for those titles that I find silly, but there was no fear in my heart. So I agreed, and our joy in each other was radiant. Even in spite of a few bad moments, there was so much happiness, and I wish those moments could have stretched out into eternity. He thinks the walls are gone, though. And I try to tell them that they aren't... But I don't think he understands, not truly. When I am around him, those few days, everything feels calm and serene and I feel secure in us. I feel happy and I want to hug him and hug the world and laugh and laugh. I can feel the magic. But when I am home, the gremlins come. Each week, they seem to grow stronger. The more these emotions grow, the stronger the fear. He sees me as happy and joyous - but when I am back in this house, anxiety spikes through my veins often. And as I am forbidden to chew on my nails anymore, I chew on my lips until they are shredded and bleeding and chapped, until I can't bear to look at them in the mirror, and I can't see how he will bear to kiss them. The fear is still here. The walls. Except... the fears have shifted. Instead of worrying about how I will destroy him, how my love will poison him... Now I worry about him hurting me. Which is a strange shift after the past few relationships. I am worried that he is going to leave, without warning and without reason. Suddenly, I feel self-conscious about my face with its non-symmetrical features - my strange nose and open lips and uneven eyes. Even my body, which I am normally proudest of, is far from its usual shape, and I feel hesitant to show it off. When will he get tired of me? He is a beautiful boy who is friends with the most stunning alternative model ladies, and I keep waiting for him to look at me with puzzlement, wondering what he ever saw in this plainjane changeling girl. Even this anxiety causes more anxiety - because nothing is more attractive than self-confidence. I never FEEL more beautiful than when I am peacocking, when I feel strong and proud and alive. This self-consciousness is ugly and it makes me feel incredibly ugly inside, and I am afraid he will high-tail it if he sees. I even have trouble opening up to him, fear blocking all of the words inside of my chest. I have so much that I want to tell him - dreams and fears and laughter and wishes. But the words die inside of my throat, smothered in blushes, and I can't get them out, no matter how hard I try. When will he get bored of my silence, of these conversations that I can't contribute significant thoughts to? I have them... Fear just keeps me from saying them, a crippling shyness that makes me want to hide my face in my hands. I feel broken in a different way, and I don't want him to see it. I am scared to death for him to see it, and be disappointed. That pretty gem that sparkled in the sunshine of the window, but is cracked and dusty when you finally cradle it within your palms. And then he will put me back on the shelf, wash his hands and find another gem, another glittering beauty. Maybe that will happen, now that I am finally his and the challenge of the hunt is over. I can't fathom how he can possibly want me. I honestly... I can't see what he sees. And then there is the evil, vile voice that whispers, "Maybe he doesn't. Maybe it's not real." That's the worst voice at all, and I make sure I squash it down the moment it arises, hands clamped over my ears. But it still murmurs when I least expect it. Part of these fears come from too much free time, and not enough motivation. These days spent home are spent wasting time - watching television and hanging out with family and reading - distractions at every turn. I am not doing anything significant with my life. I haven't been doing any shoots lately. I haven't been working very much. I haven't been writing or crafting - no creation. It has all been stagnant, these hours blurring together until it is time to fall asleep, and stagnation always brings a state of depression. I am not doing anything beautiful with my life. I am not fulfilling dreams - the dreams have fallen away until I can barely remember them. I am not creating, using art as the alchemy to transform pain into beauty. I am not planning or working hard, pushing myself to my limits. I am not opening myself up or diving into spirituality - I am not visiting friends and laughing over stolen nights of endless conversation. I am not writing letters and eating fresh fruit and feeling the joy that comes from simplicity. I feel lost. And ashamed of these emotions. And just plain fucking terrified. I don't know how to fix it. But I know that my Sir deserves so much better than a pet who is as silly and sad as I feel right now. I wish I could be the kind of girl he deserves.