I'm a Scared Person

I’ve never told anyone before,
but I’m a very scared person.
I scream at harmless things—
the flicker of a bathroom light in the dead of night,
the soft brush of a hair on the back of my neck.
I’m scared of boys, ladybugs,
and being left behind.
I’m a scared person.

Maybe it’s because I’m the oldest sibling,
and with that comes the weight of always having it together—
being brave, even when it feels like no one cares,
like I’m alone in this.
Maybe that’s where it started,
this need to be strong when no one’s watching,
when no one’s there.

I’m scared of being left behind—
like the scraps of a meal everyone once loved,
just not enough to eat again.
I’m scared of fading away,
a lost flame, an old friend,
a forgotten memory.
I’m scared of losing everything—
my one good friend, my family.

I’m scared of working hard without a break,
only to realize, when it’s all said and done,
that what I wanted most
was simply someone to be there.

I wonder if fear ever leaves,
if it ever fades,
or if it just becomes something else—
something uglier,
something new.

Sometimes I wonder if fear is like an old friend—
always there, always watching,
just waiting for the right moment to remind me
that I’m not enough,
that I’m still learning how to live.
Does it become less sharp as I grow older,
or do I just get better at hiding it?

I wonder if one day,
I’ll wake up and feel free—
free from the weight of wondering what others think,
free from this constant worry
that I’m not enough,
that I’ll never be enough.
Maybe then, I won’t scream at shadows,
or run from thoughts that chase me in the quiet.

But for now,
I am scared,
and that’s okay.
Because maybe fear is just part of who I am,
and learning to live with it
is the hardest, but most honest thing I can do.