North. Facing. Fear. Gathering. Communion.
Mass. Weight. Gravity. Sober. Drunk.
I have a healthy set of fears, of gravity and gatherings. Both strip the mass off my bones and leave me weightless amongst the void of many. Communion is hard with these fears, the idea of facing anyone in any manner not distant and oblique is a sobering thought that snaps me out of my bubble. I’m not saying I don’t want it, but I can only manage it entirely drunk.
The doctors call it anxiety, but that would mean it is irrational. They want me to find true north, to go out and mingle. It never interested me, even if I wouldn’t mind company – but I know exactly what humans are capable of, and what gravity does to people who take leaps of faith.