Dear Diary

Dear Diary: Thirty-Eight

Levi's Point of View: Rmellis

Pistanthrophobia. Asthenophobia. Automysophobia. Somniphobia. Autophobia. Philophobia.

There is near enough a list, a title for everything in the world. Whether that be your emotion; your needed medication, your gender- all to your fear. I had many fears. Fears that no one knew about. Fear's that I had to keep to myself. I know my fear's and I know there are many unnamed; but the main ones are those listed above. Never heard of them? Because they're pathetic fears that are for the weak. No one could know of my fears, and no one would ever understand.

I wrote down a list of my fears. Stupid, right? What's the point of jolting them down on a piece of paper? But just like the innocent kid in whose life I have completely ruined, I found the long way to rid my mind of occurring thoughts or haunting emotions were to write them down:

Somniphobia: this comes along with my insomnia. It's also know to be the fear of sleeping. Why would I fear such a thing so idiotic as this? Well- why wouldn't I? Who knows when I'll next wake up? Whether I'll have a nightmare or not? Whether I'll wake up where I fell asleep? Multiple time's I've woken up and been unable to move. I'd stare at the ceiling, my breathing heavy as I could do nothing but pray for my feeling to come back. It isn't painful, but when this happened to me at a young age- it was horrifying.

Automysophobia: this comes with my OCD, though people tend not to notice. From a young age I was made to fend for myself. To clean the house head to toe and feed myself. This fear is of dirt. If it wasn't for me tidying this house for my useless guardian, I'd be living in a pile of dust, dirt and his litter with a highly unlikely chance that he'd get up off of his arse to clean it himself.

Autophobia: the fear of being alone. Petty, right? I know I'm not 'alone', deep down I know Hange and Erwin have my back and I'm only alone because I push people away; but I can't help it. I can't get used to people caring about a lowlife like myself. How people want what's best for me and try to befriend me- who'd want to? I'm feared by all so why care?

He doesn't care about you, Levi.

Pistanthrophobia: I don't get how some people don't have this. But then again, this is what makes me and the brat alike. It's the fear to trust. I know the brat may have this- or have something like this. The way he hides things, the way he screams it out on paper but stays silent in real life. How his voice seems to be so loud- yet comes across so timidly.

You know better then the trust him- he'll make you weak...

Asthenophobia: weakness. It's the fear of seeming or coming across weak- something I secretly am. I may hurt people. Scare people and have even a stranger fear me by one look- but my fear is to be seen as weak. I can't be. I can't allow my weakness to show. I can't be timid like him... I can't be a target. I need people to fear me, to know I'm strong. Because that's the only way I can protect myself from the horror in life.

Don't let them see your true self...

And the last main one on the list? Philophobia.

Philophobia is the fear of being loved. The fear of connecting with someone and getting so close to them that you do the one thing I can ever do- love. Love is something I'll never receiving and something no one would want from me. And if they did- they'd only leave me at the end of the day anyways.

You can't get close to him... he'll hurt you like everyone else.

Who is him? That stupid brat that dared to open his arms to me- the kid who doesn't deserve what I did to him but there was no other way. He should have a better life. Be happy and find the things that I can't stand. He shouldn't have his days at school ruined because of me. He shouldn't be picked upon and destroyed mentally, more than he already is. He deserves to be treated like royalty with all the best things- something I can't do or give.

When I left his bloody, bruised and beaten self on the cafe's floor, I didn't hesitate to rush off 'home'. It was far from a home to me, but it was all I've got. Dropping my bag on the end of my bed, slamming my door shut behind me- I stood there, panting breathlessly as the adrenaline pumping through me slowly faded away. Staring aimlessly at the door shut before me, my eyes burned and stung in unforgivable tears. My breathing hitched when I noticed this; the tightness and pain within my chest all becoming too much.

Clenching my fist, weakness overcoming me- the fear, the pain and my swirling emotions all became too much as without thinking; I raised my fist and hammered it against the wall besides the door. I knew we couldn't afford to break the door- so that common sense was there- but brick wall and bones colliding isn't the smartest idea.

A low, curse word of, "Fuck!" erupted from me as I took all my anger and rage onto the wall.

I don't know how long I was doing it, or when I even stopped repeating the action. But, out of breath with tears stroking my hollow, pale cheeks- my fist shook in pain. Though to me, the pain was almost relieving. It helped me know the pain the brat felt. It was my punishment for me doing such a disgraceful thing. I couldn't focus and my eyes were blurred over in tears as the tightness in my chest was still there, but the excruciating pain in my fist was worse than ever.

Wiping my eyes were the collar of my shirt, I let off a hoarse cough before glancing down at my hand. The skin was scraped from my knuckles that burned a bloody red. Dripping down my numb fingers, droplet's landed on the tile floors and I grimaced at the sight. Licking my chapped lips, trying to regain my posture; I yanked open the door and headed into the bathroom.

Luckily for me, Kenny wasn't home right now- how I knew? For one, the door wasn't locked and when I left this morning I'd locked it. Now when Kenny leaves, he always forgets to lock up- not like we have anything worth stealing anyways. And for the fact, that no one was charging at me for slamming the door shut.

I didn't know where my uncle was, or when he'd be back- but honestly, I didn't care.

You deserve the pain.

The voice taunted me. Wincing and cursing lowly when I ran my hand under cold water, I used my free hand to grip the sink tightly in pain. The sink turn the crimson colour of red as it slow disappeared down the drain.

You hurt him... just like you hurt everyone; you're a monster.

Levi growled at the haunting voice. Moving over to an old yet clean towel, he wrapped it around his limp hand and grunted in pain, biting his tongue harshly. Looking up, his breath caught in the back of his throat; he let off a hiss in pain.

You should just bleed out; I don't understand why you're still alive.

"Shut up," he snapped, finally giving in. "Just shut up!!"

You know I'm telling the truth...

And I knew they were. The voices that never left me alone were always right and no matter how many times I went against them, or ignored them; they were always there and never left me alone. Leaning over the sink, the rusty blue towel staining a darkened, fiery red; I shifted to the bedroom. No one would help me with the injury; but I wasn't bothered. The pain was soothing to me.

Slumping down on my uncomfortable bed, I reluctantly reached out and used my good hand to pull out my ultimate weapon; the weapon that could completely demolish one's life. Destroy the life of the one I care about- the life of a male who was making me lose my mind. A male that had me feel things I've never felt before. A male who managed to make me cry. A male that makes it hard for me to want to die.

Flicking open the pages onto today's date, I reach for my night stands and pull out a black pen before bringing it down upon the smooth paper. Allowing my left hand to move on it's own- no, I am not left handed, so my writing was shit- I wrote of the events that happened today along with how I felt. I know this was his personally diary- this was something I so wrongly took- but I was still writing about him. I was writing about him and the things he did to me- the emotions I can't explain.

With a shaky hand, the towel bloody red, stray tears danced down my cheek; I wrote freely.

'You, kid,' I wrote the the last few sentences, 'are going to be the death of me.' Biting my lip, the pain nearly unbearable, blood dripped onto the crinkled paper, I finished with; 'What are these feelings? Why do you make me feel this way?'

Because you're weak, Levi... No one wants someone as weak as you.