I've had anxiety since I was a wee lass. Not just anxiety...crippling, illogical, childhood-ruining anxiety. Most things I would tell my therapist, who I have been seeing since I was six, but some things I kept hidden deep within myself. I think it was Rose Red all along, telling me lies. She told me my mother wanted to kill me. My whole family wanted me dead. Everyone in the world was plotting my demise. I literally would not go inside a 7-11 because I feared getting shot. I was in near tears when my mother left to go alone. Despite my notion that she was out to get me, I loved her more than anything and always thought something was going to happen to her. I still do.

I still have horrible anxiety, but it's taken a more mature turn. Now everyone is trying to rape me. Nice, eh? Even some family members. I can barely handle being around men. I hate being touched. I'm basically a rape victim.

And don't get me started on the social anxiety. She tells me they all laugh at me. She tells me that no one could ever want to be my friend because I'm too crazy and weird. Class is usually miserable. My heart is thumping a million miles an hour, bursting out of my chest. I keep my head down at my notebook, shaking, literally shaking with fear. There are people. They see the way I'm dressed, oh god they think I'm a freak. They're laughing at me. Even if they're being nice to me, I know what they're really thinking. I know what everyone's really thinking.

Last time, though, was lovely. The medication made some of my social anxiety leave. I actually spoke out in class. And, get this, I actually made acquaintances. Shayda and Chris. Chris is a steampunk. He wasn't in costume, but I was. He noticed and said he liked it. He's awfully cute. I do not think they're laughing at me. I think they may actually like me a little bit. It was one of the most thrilling experiences I've had in years, which is actually pretty sad.

But the medication isn't working as well. I'm afraid.

Fare-thee-well.