It’s tight like a snake, winding itself around my body in taut coils. It makes it way to my shoulders, where in an instant it transforms itself into a beast with claws of steel, digging deep into my skin. I try to shake it off, but despite my best efforts, it clings on for its life, without budging a centimeter. Each day I try to remove the pain, but with every attempt its hold on me becomes stronger and stronger, and its weight becomes heavier and heavier. It feels as if a pile of bricks have been stacked atop me, and I was forced to carry them wherever I go. Sometimes, it lingers around me like my shadow, watching every step I take and whispering in my ear at every decision. Inside my head I run, panting harder with each footfall. Reality paints a different picture; one with me stuck, firmly planted as I was before, with a blank face. A face like any other, with no emotion, parlaying nothing to those around me. 

Anxiety has lived inside of me for as long as I can remember. Inside my heart, my head, snaking its way through my body, eating away at my confidence. I feel it coursing through my veins at the most unsuspecting times, constricting my lungs to the point where breathing seems virtually impossible. My eyes widen and my throat dries, and I search for a relief from the fear. But there are none. I can’t explain my emotions to anyone in a way that clarifies them, but just imagine for a moment how it feels to be scared out of your skin, where comfort is like a grain of sand, too small to pick up and hold alone, too small of a thing to put to use.

I’m sure other people would describe me much differently than I would describe myself. I’ve heard from my closest friends that once you get to know me, and look past the seemingly disgruntled and bored exterior, that I’m a bubbly and charismatic person. A person extremely loyal and truthful in every situation, a happy go lucky type figure who lives in the moment, smile radiating throughout the room. But on the inside, I’m constantly anxious, fearful no matter the time of day. My heart aches with the feelings of loneliness and lack of empathy and understanding of others.  It's as if both my heart and my head are crying tears of agony, when in fact, there is nothing inflicting pain upon me but myself. I am almost never confident or willing to speak my own opinions, as I am frightened of judgement and imperfections. What I believe the thoughts of others to be scratch away at my soul, tearing me down to the point where I sometimes feel nothing. 

Almost every second of the day, no matter the month, time, or year, my anxiety finds a way to trickle in through the barely there cracks in my emotions. Most of the time, I feel it’s tense grasp on me when I’m partaking in something I love or care about.  I cannot count the number of times my mind has screamed for me to stop during a race, wrestling with the positive thoughts I know I must feel. The sound of thundering feet flows around me, engulfing the other runners and myself in a cloud of dust. Around me, the other girls panting heavily, breathing in and out. I can just barely make out the cheering of the fans on the sidelines, but my head is too focused on the task before me to care. Further and further I go in the race, dirt coating my legs and splattering on the runners behind me. Suddenly, the sound dies down and everything becomes silent. I can no longer rely on the belief of others to urge me forward. Everything inside of me aches and pleads for the chance to rest; I deny it for as long as I can, the fear of failure, of a bad time flashing before my eyes. But I can’t hold it off; eventually its grip on me becomes far too strong and I can’t. I can’t. I can’t go any farther. I can’t walk. I can’t breathe.

It’s part of my daily routine. At this point, I’m fairly used to it. I carry it around on my back like I do my gray backpack, straining my muscles to the point of numbness. I give away nothing of the true pain I feel; maybe at times to those I trust with my whole heart, knowing they would never intentionally do anything to me that would inflict upon me unrelenting pain. I open up like the sky does when it rains, every emotion washing out of me like the floodgates have suddenly burst. Then only a moment later, it rushes back in and the sun begins to shine again.

I have lived like this for my entire life. It’s nothing out of the ordinary for me to jump between moods. I wish I could hand it off to those around me, force somebody else to carry the immense weight that it holds. However, I cannot do that; I wouldn’t want even my worst enemy to experience the tearing pain it causes me. Even though anxiety carries alongside it its own negative side effects, I know deep down in my heart that if I lived my life without it, I wouldn't call myself the same. I wouldn’t have the same empathy and compassion I do in certain situations, I wouldn’t be able to smile in the most horrendous of times because I know much worse, I wouldn’t be able to crawl out of my shell and show my true colors when I want to. I wouldn’t be me. Despite the extensive hatred I may feel towards it, I owe my anxiety everything because without it, the definition of who I am would be written much differently.