Ok. It’s funny.

The thing that got me here is the very thing I’m afraid of.

Lyssophobia it’s called.

I always hated it when people used the word phobia as a synonym for fear. But it’s not, you know. Phobias are much, much deeper.

Everything scared me.

I was afraid that certain colors would set me off.

Or a book? What if a book pushed me over the edge?

Something that someone said? If a simple sentance proved too much for my mind?

Eventually I couldn’t go outside. Anything I saw, anything might do it, might ruin me.

This worked, for a while. I stayed inside. Nothing could hurt me then, no outside variables.

Then I remembered: cabin fever. That harms people who are inside for too long.

That did it.

Now I wake up every morning, eat breakfast, go on a quiet walk through the garden. I enjoy myself now.

Because you can’t be afraid that something will happen if it already happened.

Because, didn’t you know? Lyssophobia is the fear of going mad. And now I live in the asylum.