It's been a few days since I've posted. It's amazing what can happen in a few days.

I've taken the first steps towards what appears to be one of the darkest corners of the attic. Bravery is an odd thing; not at all what it's made out to be in movies and novels. A contradictory combination of fear and determination, a confusing desire to both jaggedly dawdle forward and bolt in immediate reverse.

The shadows loom before me growing and stretching - as shadows do when you move. Looking at them curiously, I wonder if there's truly anything to be afraid of. They're shadows after all, right?

Why is it those things that have so little substance, so little physical ability to sway us have so much power? Why do we give in to ghosts of past, efemoral beings of our subconscious? Hauntings from our childhood, altered reality from adolescence, vision marred in young adulthood - a lifetime of scars that open and ooze whenever we get too close.

Avoidance is so much easier. Yet here I stand, poking and prodding at my fears. I am weak. I tire and give in too easily. Who thought it was a good idea to put a brave heart with a weak mind? Or maybe it's a brave mind and a weak heart? I want to crumble where I am instead and leave this battle. I want no more scars. I want no more tears. I want no more shadows that I will have to face and clean out of this place before I die.

I want sunshine, yellow and bright streaming in through large windows; I want to smell flowers wafting in on the same breeze the shifts the gauzy curtains; I want to revel in the warmth of an embrace..... instead there is dust. There is damp. There is mildew and mold. The glass to the only window is smoked and nailed shut. Even in the brightest of sun, no light uncovers the mystery that lies here. Complete clean out and reconstruction is the only thing that will change the atmosphere of my mind.

I wish someone were here to hold my hand.