Phobia of losing control in speaking situations. – Spelunking troglodyte.


All animals are driven by their fear toward a safer place. Wounded, sick animals are likely to rest in caves or other hiding-places. They wait until they gain their energy again.

The lightning of freedom touched the top of my head, and it was so promising, so beautiful that I huddled myself up, running back to my old, well-furnished cave called "me". It was too shiny. Can you understand that?! Well, you'll have to…

Now I'm in my purgatory, tied myself up in knots: I can't leave the cave because I still compulsively think that the world is full of spiders; but I can't stay here because 1: the spiders have discovered it, and 2: something which I had called freedom at that moment (or rather I had been called by it) are attracting me toward the Unknown. Toward Myself, as it really is. Or could be.

This both frightening and comic state is called "Phobia of the good" in philosophy: when someone who had been living his life in an entirely wrong way, far away from himself, never known of that, and he suddenly are touched by freedom, by the "good" way. It's rather funny, but be sure it's really frightening too: that I'm afraid to fully understand the very fact that I have been being afraid all my life in vain; and if I'd choose to, I could stop that in any moment.

I could stop that now.

But instead of that I'm drawing signs on the walls, believing that I do that to help other poor stutterers not to think it's their home. No: it's a lie. I'm just stalling for time. What a fool I am!


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