I am not unlike any other adolescent. I go to school and maintain a job. I enjoy the company of my friends and family, trying to find the perfect balance of work and play. Some days I sleep too late; other days I wake up to relish in a balmy sunrise with bitter coffee. I don't have it all figured out, but I see the silver lining — the power of experiencing new things.

But we all experience bouts of self-doubt. Our world can seem filled with over-achievers, making our own accomplishments appear meager. Comparison kills, yet we find ourselves doing it anyway.

I try to remain optimistic about who I am, my circumstances, and the future right in front of me. I can say that I am quite happy, but like many other people, I find myself plagued by anxiety. I've discussed this before, but I wanted to give a more intimate account of the conflict it produces, and how it is a catalyst for paranoia and even depression.

I have always had an intensely difficult time discussing my anxiety and paranoia with other people; I don't want to see their reactions. I don't want to watch them stumble over words, trying to help me find a solution that isn't there. Most of all, I don't want the sympathy. When my anxiety speaks, it scares all other assets of me away. All of a sudden I am unconfident, difficult to talk to, and incredibly standoffish. When my anxiety speaks, it echoes for everyone to hear, driving me to build walls and keep everyone out.

It comes without warning and leaves me vulnerable. All of a sudden, I lose all sense of rationality, and the paranoia soon follows. All I can hear is how I'm too difficult to deal with, that I'm just a burden on everyone's shoulders. Anxiety speaks and wreaks havoc, leaving depression in its wake.

When anxiety speaks over all the good things in my life, all I can see is the ugly. I can only think of all the mistakes I've made, the people I've disappointed, and the idea that if anyone dislikes me, they are completely right to do so.

Anxiety speaks loudly and traps me in a cycle of bad outbreaks and apologizing for them. I have to say sorry over and over again. Sorry for being irrational. Sorry for being needy. Sorry for existing. Sorry for always having to say sorry. This is my vulnerability, the storm raging in my mind, feeling like I'm just a time bomb waiting to explode and hurting everyone I love. But I say I'm okay. Because I guess that I am always okay.

Yet, there is a silver lining; when the calm comes in and the clouds clear up, all the beautiful things in my life are suddenly amplified. My heart stops racing and my hands stop shaking, and then my view is like steady waters. It's like when flowers still bloom after being stepped on, and everything is okay.

My anxiety can speak as loudly as it wants, but it can't deafen me. Every single day has been an opportunity to get better, and to make my life more vibrant so the negative voices are futile. I figure that finding the good in the bad is the product of resilience. Every time I quiet my voices of anxiety and self-doubt, it makes it harder for them to come back the next time around.

What I've learned is that it has never been anyone's fault, and it's no one's battle but my own. We all have struggles that speak loudly, but they are what mold us into who we are. I have my bad days, but I know better than to let them define who I am, because all I can see is the good. Everything is alright, and I am still standing.