Caring.

Sometimes I am shocked to discover that people care about me.
I don't know why it shocks me, I am aware that I am not a bad person and therefore it is logical that people would care but still, for some reason, it surprises me.
Sometimes I discover that people worry about me, who I did not realise were even so aware of me, paying attention, noticing... It is difficult for me to understand.
But it feels nice, to know that people care, to know people worry. (Does that make me an attention seeker?) At the same time though, I feel guilty. As if I believe that I should not burden them with concern about me, and so, much of the time, I do not openly express myself. Except when I write and even then it is sometimes cryptic with metaphors and crude imagery, due to my state of mind and habitually ingrained need for secrecy.

It is very rare for me to be truly open with anyone. To show them my fears and insecurities... I don't mean the surface anxities, but the deep fears that I barely understand myself.
Anyone that has seen me show fear of anything has seen a vulnerability, a weakness, that I prefer to pretend does not exist. Those people, unless they just happen to be in the wrong place at the wrong time... Should know that I trust them more than most.
Recently someone I trust had a glimpse of my fear but I doubt she had any idea what the real fear was, beneath the surface incident that exposed it.