An Indescribable Type of Gorgeous

Anxieties

It feels as if you're suffocating. Like a terrible storm swirling and screaming into your ears. It's like the harsh wind that growls and bites at you when you walk. No matter how clear your path, how determined you are, anxiety and fear constricts your stomach like a python a mouse. Squealing. Crying. Pleading.

Imagine you're in the courtroom and they're all pointing their angry, unforgiving fingers. You're guilty of nothing. You have no crime to feel remorse- no faults to apologise for. Yet the stress and the hatred is stitched deep into your skin. To remove the threads of your foundation is to ensure fallout. All you can bear to mutter is, have mercy on the innocent. The courtroom scoffs. You sob.

Imagine looking into the mirror. It's smudged in the corner. It's small and insignificant, yet it draws massive attention for your disgusted, starving eyes. Why does the smudge matter so much when the rest is crystal clear and perfect. It's still a mirror. You look at yourself. Smudges and faults more prominent than ever. Your hands shake uncontrollably as you stare into the eyes of someone you do not know.

Anxiety holds me on a short metal chain around my neck. Tugging me around like an animal, leaving scars and marks all along my body. It taps its impatient fingers, reminding me to think about the way I'm perceived and disliked.

The number of people who dislike you outnumber those who do. Never forget that.

And I don't.

Who do you think you are talking to them? You're a nobody is this place.

So I remain quiet.

I learn that burdens ought to be maintained. So I go home and wait to cry.

Imagine being ridiculed for following orders. Go this way, no there, don't do that, never ever do this. I stand like an obedient dog. My eyes focused on commands. I dare not move. I dare not disrespect those who are god. I do not talk to my friends. I am scared they do not like me. I do not talk to my classmates. I am scared they will not listen. I only talk to myself. I'm used to the manipulation. Instead I smile and laugh, comment on insignificant jokes and mold different masks each and every day. I know they all smell the fake plaster-y smell.