Hating the Fear

I hate that I hate flying. I hate the fear that wells up inside of me. I hate that I feel terrified. I hate that I am frightened. I hate that I feel weak. I hate that I can't stop from thinking that today may be my last day. This may be my last night. This conversation I just had with this person might be their last memory of me. It's a complete and overwhelming sense of dread that I cannot control. And I hate it. I hate that I feel sick. I hate that I feel numb. I hate the rising panic, the desire to flee, to run, to hide. To be anywhere else and anyone else but me. I hate knowing that it's not logical. I hate knowing that there is no basis for all of this intense feeling that I cannot do anything but bear. I hate that I feel this way. I hate that I am afraid. But I am afraid. I hate it.