Anxiety At It's Best

Alone In The World

"Marcus..." said a soft voice, sounding like it was coming from miles away.

"Marcus!! Do what I told you..." It said again, only closer this time.

"Count to seven Marcus... Go on"

"One" I said in a deep raspy voice.

At this point I opened one eye slightly. Looking around, I saw books on bookshelves, fake plants all around the room, pictures and diplomas on the walls.

"Two"

I opened the other eye slightly, seeing the woman in the corner. She had red hair, just like my mother. She was wearing a pants suit, almost like what those snobby lawyers wear. And she also had a clipboard with her, writing everything I was doing and/or saying.

"Three... Four"

"Slower." She said in a bit of a harsh voice.

"Five"

I don't want to be here I kept telling myself. Therapists are useless in society. They take your money and tell you to count to fucking seven. Cause that totally helps people like me. People that can't control their emotions. People that are too damn depressed to care anymore.

"Six."

I just want it to end. Mum taught this would be best for me though. She didn't want to lose me and I understand that. But sometimes, you have to lose the ones you love, to forgive yourself for the pain you put them through. That's what Doctor Bullshit over here told me.

"Seven" I finally said, looking at her right in the eyes.

"Wonderful, I think that's going to be it for today Marcus. Have a good day and I'll see you tomorrow." she said, opening the door for me to leave.

Depression. Anxiety. Pills. Death. Suicide. What life would be like without me in it.

The only time I leave my home is to go to therapy. I'm afraid to go outside. Afraid of people. I don't have any friends, I'm all alone in my own little world. I only know seven people in my life, the others either left to have a better life or just killed themselves. I've never been to parties or concerts, big crowds set off alarms in my head, telling me to leave and never come back to Earth. As I walk through the streets of New York now, I feel like everyone here is judging me. Like they know my deepest secrets and they all hate me for it. I regret everything.

My breathing picks up. People around me start to stare and wonder. I walk faster. My mind is thinking of the worst memories. People start to stare. I walk faster. My heartbeat picks up. I'm alone.

"Hey are you ok dude?" A homeless man stops and asks me.

I stare at him, my breathe picking up even faster. He knows everything. I brush fast him and start to run home. I can't breath anymore. What is wrong with me?

I'm home and I can't stop. I go to my basement where everything was already set up. What am I supposed to do? They already know. It's a matter of time before they know everything.

"Close your eyes and count to seven, when you wake, you'll be in heaven."

"1."

My father left me when I was two.

"2."

My mother is a drunk.

"3."

My therapist abuses me.

"4."

My girlfriend cheated on me with my brother.

"5."

My brother is a rich son of a bitch.

"6."

My only friend slit his wrists when we were 15.

My chair awaits me.

"7."

Death is my new bestfriend.

And now, it's over.

~Author's Note~

What's up guys!! Two really short stories in one day, that's pretty good. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it, more stories coming your way.

                                                                                                                                                            ~WritingLifeLessions