I am very, very afraid. It has been a long time since my last confession, but that’s not really why I am afraid. I am afraid to start. To start something, anything. To be so naked and exposed. But do this I must. I do not have to per se, but I have lived in this guilded prison long enough. It is my life, and so I must live it. It’s impossible not to live it, of course. I must be as man once was, naked and unashamed. Shame. I have known a lot of shame, and fear, and doubt, and guilt. Too much guilt. I have only really recently started to understand myself. To comprehend myself. To gain some measure of understanding regarding who I am, how I work. I would like to write more. Writing is something that I suppose I am somewhat good at it, so please be gentle in your criticism of me. I am only a boy, a boy with words.

I also love writing; I love the written word. I love the art of communication, the intricacies of language, how each word conveys some measure of meaning, but has a history all of its own. I have struggled in this life, and I am naked enough to admit that. I have a lot of personal issues that hold my head under the proverbial water. In fact, tie me to the seabed itself. As people, as humans we struggle to keep our head above the water, when we actually should be walking on the water. Intriguing thought, I know. And so, I must begin. Begin by saying something, saying this. Keep a record. I do not think of myself as a blogger. Such a crude term. Blog comes from the term ‘web log.’ Logs are short, brief, factual statements intended to be picked up later by someone else, or merely being a historical record in the event of. Bloggers do not truly ‘blog’ at all. They tell stories, they respond and react, the consider theories and perspectives. Nothing is short, brief and factual about that.

I start this merely because I am afraid of starting. I suffer from a particular form of anxiety disorder called phobophobia. It’s a real thing, I assure you. It is more commonly addressed as the ‘fear of fear.’ I react very negatively to the presence of fear and anxiety. I am in a sense ‘allergic’ to fear. But it is an emotional allergy that can potentially defeated. This is something that I have had for a great many years. Recently I despaired that I would never get better, that this life is my life, and nothing is ever going to change. Phobophobia is not easily understood, not even by those who suffer from it. I am also what they call a Highly Sensitive Person. I will detail more of what that is like in future chapters. I am not a blogger, and don’t intend to become one. I am a writer, a lover of the written word, and a storyteller, and I intend to stay that way. This is my story. My name is Derek Dugan, and for all intents and purposes, this is day one.