How to Lose Fear and Completely Run Away from All Social Connection

When I was a kid, I was terrified of guns.

I hated loud noises -- they reminded me of my father yelling at something I'd done wrong -- so they aleady had that against them. But I was also one of the earliest of the children to grasp that even a tiny .22 pistol could kill someone in the blink of an eye, even in the hands of the most unskilled individual. Even in the hands of a child who doesn't know any better.

As I got older, and wiser, I eventually found out that it was the person behind the gun who made all the difference. For instance: if one of those Slender-puppets had a gun in my presence, it would make me feel very differently than I would if it was, say, Zeke with the gun. And eventually guns became a smaller worry; war, poverty, corruption, evil men -- there were much bigger things to be scared of.

When I was fourteen, my dad brought me to the local shooting range for the first time. I still didn't really like guns, but he got one in my hands only for both of us to find that I was an excellent natural shot, with both a handgun and a rifle. He's also a bow hunter and had taught me to shoot a bow and arrow before then, so we'd had an idea, but I'd never even picked up a firearm before. As I practiced, and he taught me how to properly handle, take apart, and examine a weapon, I became less and less afraid, because what you know is so much less frightening than what you don't.

Come to think of it, that's still a really good memory I have with my dad. And promptly on the heels of that comes the thought that we haven't been back there in quite some time. The closest I've gotten were airsoft matches with my friends, and I've shied away from those kinds of outings since this business began. But more on that later.

Getting to the point, I think it's this same principle that I feel toward those FBI agents, that allows me to snark them up with no problem. I don't know the Slender Man -- don't know his motives, his origins, and even theories can only come close -- but I know men. And I know how to deal with men. And we can all be assured here that in this instance, there are just much bigger things to worry about.

On that note, actually, a lot of you commenters were talking about, not the Department of SCP, but The SCP; I think we might be talking about two different organizations. I've never heard of a diffinitive "SCP" group, but there are plenty of organizations with the same initials. For now, let's stick with talking about the Department of Specialized Containment Protocol, or NAMBLA.

Sorry. That inappropriate humor coming through again.

But I have to get it out somewhere. Most of my socialization these days comes from Facebook and World of Warcraft -- or, come to think of it, this blog. The vast majority of my friends have given me up for a recluse. A lot of them just don't know what to say to me.

But with the FBI and one whatever-the-fuck-Practical-Cat-is following me around, I need to start doing more normal teenager things. If not just to keep them off my trail, then just to keep me sane. I feel like I'll be hitting full-on cabin fever any day now.

So, when Cara, a friend of mine, posted a call for friends to help her with her Photography project on the Facebook, I merrily replied. We'll be having our own little photo shoot, I guess. Some of the photos may even make it here.

Oh, and I almost forgot; today is Valentine's Day, isn't it? And I'm caught without a valentine. Ah, well. Worse things have happened.