After reading the post on my Peruvian Nights last week, a good friend of mine wrote me a message. The general idea was: “Your life style sounds scary. You seem fearless.” It surprised me, because I am one of the most anxious people I know. How deceiving is the way people perceive us, without us ever suspecting it? One day we talk and we realise there’s been a huge misunderstanding all that time.

Fear is probably my primary emotion, because it is inherent to the excitement rushes I am addicted to. Fear is the motor of my life. It’s the weathercock that shows me the direction to take next. I’ve tamed myself to love going where the fear is. But it certainly doesn’t get easier with time.

Are we afraid of what we are drawn to because we care, or are we drawn to our fears, like a morbid curiosity for the taboo part of our own self?

If all of us drew a map of our fears and another map of our secret excitements and hidden desires, both maps would probably coincide for most people.

I threw myself into a new adventure last week, and it is freaking the shit out of me. I was accepted as a volunteer in a mental health institute, to provide dance sessions to mentally ill people. I’ve had an irresistible call for mental asylums since my teenage, so I decided to act on it to satisfy my unexplained attraction. I applied in August. My cover letter was quite raw, almost too honest.

“I have always been interested in mental health issues. I have struggled with phases of depression. I feel I have a natural understanding of patients’ condition, in the same way that I feel people with mental health issues would understand me more than “regular” people. I see this opportunity as a both way relationship. I am willing to give, but I also know that I will receive something from them that I miss in my everyday life.”

I had a theoretical training in October, with slides about all the different mental pathologies as well as practical tips such as “How to react with someone who hears voices?” It made me feel more afraid – and excited – than ready for it. After that, I met two occupational therapists in charge of two distinct wards at a psychiatric hospital.

They asked me again what my motivations were. I wanted to say: “It scares me and I am drawn to it.” But I didn’t. Or: “I do that out of cathartic selfishness. I am hoping I’ll get a homeopathic dose of madness that will calm my own disturbed thoughts.” And my third argument was: “I work in a very polished world where everything is awesome and politically correct. I want to be challenged and insulted if people really feel like that about me.” Actually, all my reasons sound wrong and self-centered. But after all, aren’t we all scientifically the centre of our own world?

Last Wednesday were my first two sessions. I had my back to the wall. I talked to a colleague-friend a couple of hours before being thrown to the lions. We went together through the worst scenarios which could happen to me: