I went on a walk yesterday. Part way through, my phone died; I was left with my thoughts. No more music. No more audio books. No more Twitter. No more Facebook. Just me and my thoughts. It was terrifying.

The big bad wolf and the monster under my bed might be real, but they don’t scare me like I scare me.

When I am locked in a room, alone with me, I can’t breathe. I feel trapped. Suffocated. Paralyzed by my fear. Even if I could move, where would I go?

I have a list of things I won’t do; elevators and airplanes are at the top of that list. But the thing I won’t do most, is live.

My thoughts keep me stuck in a reality best suited for a shitty horror film. I learned to use music, audio books and social media as a way to pry myself from the madness; the madness that is me and my tiny little room tucked away on the second floor.

But what happens when the music stops; when the last page is read?

Simple. I am left with me, and the madness of this place. A tiny room in which I will die alone — in fear — surrounded by people who could do nothing but watch from a small window as the fear consumes every bit of this room until nothing is left.

I need to invest in a portable charger. Clearly.