How can being alive feel like a trap? I know how people are supposed to feel; I know how they're supposed to live. I see it everyday in clickbait listicles and Instagram feeds. Try as I may, I can't get the hang of it. How can I pretend to be happy on social media when every aspect of life is so overwhelming to me? I didn't ask for this life. I don't want it. Even when I think about my emotions--try and really figure out what is wrong with me, I'm met with a whirlwind of frustation and confusion. I want to give up but I don't even know how. I lack the fundamental skills required to be a productive adult. I can't cope with being berated by deadlines and expectations at work. Driving terrifies me. On my daily commute, I get to practice resisting a panic attack. Bills and the basics are a constant struggle. I'm never relaxed. There is always a new worry to worry about. I feel as if I'm wired specifically to be incompatible with society and I can't stand it. I'm an animal in a trap I can't escape, and I don't have the guts to chew my own leg off.

Here It comes again. The shortness of breath, the pounding heart, the vague uneasiness, and restlessness. Why does It plague me so? Intimately familiar and thoroughly dreaded. Racing thoughts that spiral to nowhere, berating me with the memories of everything I’ve ever done wrong. Panic pacing behind the border of my consciousness, waiting for the opportunity to strike. It can’t stand the thought of me being secure, so it serves to me, nightly, a healthy dose of unwarranted paranoia. Its cruelest trick? It lingers in the background, never completely gone, and always shows itself at the most inappropriate times.

I’m lying in my bed, on the California coast, with a crisp, ocean breeze blanketing my skin as I try to fall asleep. Relaxing—or so it should be. It has no place in this setting, yet here It is. Persistent. Instead of pleasant dreams and restful sleep, It brings me cold sweats and a dry mouth—so very thoughtful. It’s a clingy friend, and it craves attention. It will not let me withdraw to my only escape for even a few hours. It inhabits my dreams, warping them to Its selfish purposes. It wants to embrace me throughout the night when it’s much too uncomfortable to cuddle, but I can’t roll over when It goes to sleep. Ah, Anxiety, what would I do without you? Be happy.