She is very anxious about a number of quite varied things, but she can also feel totally fine.

Nostalgia brings forth tears and self-disgust at the prospect of the future person that is coming. Those in the present leave her cold.

  • Panic is going to bed drunk not-at-home.
  • Sickness is the end of the world.
  • Familiarity and knowledge of proximities are a comfort blanket.
  • The ill are to be avoided, dodged, smiled at from behind bursting lungs.
  • Coughs are just warning shots.
  • Cross the road, jump away, any excuse.

Jump-scares through to anguish.


Or nothing.

She’s scared of phones (sometimes), she gets itchy and uncomfortable away from home (quite a bit), trips away are daunting, online arguments are terrifying (compulsive), she feels like she always needs to do better and be more, and she worries so much about the success of relationships that she ends up self-centred and spiralling towards sabotage as she digs deeper and deeper into the hole that she started. She makes up anxiety-inducing scenarios in her head and can feel the adrenaline running through her.

It’s a beautiful day. She’s fine.

Structure is a crutch.

Lists and methodology, visible or not, are integral.

Despite a diagnosis, she’s worried: he was wrong, she was wrong, she walked into his office and exaggerated and lied because she wants attention.

She does want attention.

Kindness is hard when it gets in the way of certainty.

Her symptoms aren’t as bad as everyone else’s. She doesn’t have panic attacks (she cries). She’s perfectly capable of functioning day-to-day (almost always). She doesn’t usually feel that bad. (What is the problem, again? Possibly she’s just used to the tension, or possibly she can’t bear normality).

‘I have anxiety’.


‘I have anxiety’.

‘You need a label for being a snivelling human shitbag who doesn’t have the guts to swallow her pride and face her insecurities and her fears and stop leeching off others’ pity is what you have, but ok’.

Low points: crushing doubt and hysterical tears, thrumming tension, DOUBT.

High points: same as everyone, I guess.


She’s fine.


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