Funny how "are you okay?" can sound just like "what's wrong with you?"

I've got to learn to believe that other people want the best for me, that ninety-nine times out of a hundred they're not headed in for the attack. This evening, after much digging, I finally got to the bottom of my unread emails dating back to 2011. As it turned out, the nest of vipers I held at arm's length for so long, afraid to touch—scared even to approach—was... mostly offers of help and expressions of concern for my well-being. So many people had reached out to me over the years and I was too afraid to even open the page. Sure, between the nice ones there were plenty of unpleasant reminders of various failures... I guess I needed six years to dull that sting? I've spent so, so long living in fear... not fear for my physical self, which I understand is hard to fathom for you more logical types, but fear of anger and judgment, fear of hate. It's taken me all the years I've been writing here to reach near-functionality when it comes to other people.

I suppose what I'm saying is: stick your hand into those snakes, it's the only way through.