There's fear. I'm good with fear. I'm used to fear. I even like fear, sometimes.
And then there's terror.
Don't like terror. Not good with terror. Not happy about it.
Not used to it.
It's that irrational urge to grab everything and just run and run and run and run and run and run until you can look back and know you're safe, but also the knowledge that you never can.
I've now known it twice in two days and I. Don't. Like. It.
First time was my fault. This time is kind of my fault, too. Not keen on that, either.
...right, that's it. I'm going to go and hug the duvet and read David Eddings and cry myself silly until I may, possibly feel better. Sitting here shaking is not good. Any minute now I'l start screaming. I really don't want to do that.