Dry heaving, trembling fingers, the throb of my heartbeats, mini panic attacks from glances strangers give me on the street.

I wonder what they think, if they think my clothes look funny today, if the laughter of the couple in their 20's that passed me a few minutes ago is at how ugly I look.

"What did you say?" The fat shopkeeper asks again, her breath is as unpleasant as ever.

I must look foolish to the other two customers behind me.

"One crate of eggs, milk and bread please"

I heave a sigh of relief as I walk home quickly, keeping my eyes down, I hope I'm walking normally.

I dig out my keys quickly, ignoring the neighbor's two year old waving at me and unlock my door, then lock it again.

I won't be coming out for another week.

This is my routine for the past two months.

I was diagnosed with severe anxiety and depression at 21, my life had been entirely average till I met her.

Who could believe an Angel could befriend me?

With a life where "fun" "fashion" and "friends" were foreign to me, I had rather resigned myself to a life of mediocrity.

Thus when I gained employment at 24 after graduating with a degree in business, my life centered around work, always the first to come and last to leave.

My coworkers were polite enough, but they always talked of plans to hangout and stories later in whispers around me, at least they didn't avoid me.

I was sorting out mails late that night at work when she came in- like I said before, she was an Angel.

Sephiora. Her lips perked and her peach lip gloss shimmered as she pronounced her name slowly for me.

Her tart perfume, the way her leather gown clung to her skin, her faux fur sliding halfway down her shoulders, her careless way of leaning by my office door as she lit a cigarette burns an unforgettable image into my memory.

She was an escort hired by my boss and she had lost her way out.

"I saw the light on and went towards it" she added with a light lisp.

"Always go towards the light was what my grandma used to say" she added with a chuckle, her eyes clouding over for an instant.

I have nothing to live for, I have no motivation, I will exist and die an obscure death. Is always how I thought.

Meeting her changed me, it became our daily routine, she would finish up with my boss and come to meet me.

Karaokes, Japanese restaurants, late night movies became our routine.

We held hands, hugged and laughed, people looked at us wherever we went. I felt seen.

My anxiety faded and I began starting conversations with coworkers, I even got invited to a cookout.

But my joy was short lived.

She didn't show one day, and the next, then it became a week, a week turned to a month then I quit.

I didn't quit. I left and never came back.

Coworkers tried to reach me for a week, I couldn't bear the heartache of the sound of my phone buzzing and it's not Sephiora, I changed my number.

That was foolish, she never had my contact to begin with, I never asked her last name or knew her address.

I don't even think Sephiora is her real name.

I was just too swept up in the thrill of someone finally paying attention to me.

Was it because I confessed my feelings to her?

My anxiety slowly returned, since I had no human contact it grew worse, with my burnout.

My reason to get up in the morning exists no more.

Who was I kidding? What did I expect anyway? I ruined a good thing and will never see her beautiful brown eyes glow again as she laughed at my jokes.

They were delicious. Her eyes I mean.

That was the only part I didn't cook out of reverence to her.

"I'm sorry I can't date girls, much less YOU" she had said that night with a flip of her silky hair and disdain in her voice before I pushed her down, breaking her neck on the deserted street that night.

I couldn't bear for someone special to me, look or talk to me like the others.

I open the deep freezer and take out a frozen manicured hand. Bread and meat with some eggs sound really good right now.