A Letter from Fear

December 11, 2016


Fear is cloaked in a doctor’s vest, a telescope around its neck: the ultimate authority.

Fear walks into a room confident; it knows how to keep me safe.

Fear knows the remedy to stay alive.


Fear winks at me.

Fear knows we have a secret love.

Fear is a bit goofy at times, but mostly fear stands watch and waves its finger.

Fear appears bold and in control. Inside, Fear is shaking.

Fear wrote me a letter too: 



Dear Elizabeth,


I have never loved anyone like I love you.

I can’t bare the thought of losing you.

Were something to happen to you, I’d lose my ability to breath.


I want you to live the life you want.

But I want you to come home at night, in my arms.


I don’t want you to die.

I don’t want you to suffer.

I don’t want you to cry.


I want you stay under my wing,

where I can protect you,

where I can make sure nothing can harm you.


Because I love you so damn much it hurts.

It hurts when I see you panicked and sad.

It hurts when I see you itchy from candida and psoriasis.

It hurts when I see you walk out into the world and I know you will be too tired to take care of yourself.


You are too sensitive.

You need my help.

You need me to keep control over your eating habits, your sleeping habits, your spending habits.


That big bad world isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.

It’s better to stay snug in your island home.

It’s safer to stay curled up in front of Netflix, sipping turmeric tea.

It’s safer for the world not to read all about you.


After all, there are stalkers out there and I couldn’t live with myself if something happened to you.

Imagine how your actions would impact your family?

Imagine how your death would impact your son?


Don’t die.

And you don’t die by staying home.

You don’t die by taking naps, taking care of your health, and taking care where you step.

Mind your step.


I ask you this, no I beg of this, not only for my sake, but for yours.

You are worth breath!

You are worth a gazillion breaths.


I have done all the research. 

I know Curiosity is strong within you. 

I know the Curiosity is bright and shiny.

I however, have seem too many mangled bodies following Curiosity’s advice.

This is not what you want, not really.

It’s ok to stay small.

Staying small means you get to live to see another day.

Staying small means you stay safe in my arms where I can love you, hold you, and keep you forever.


If I pressure you too much, it’s only because, as I said, I have never loved anyone like I love you.


Yours forever,


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