I am catapulting. As the autumn brings change and new beginnings and the possibility of either success or failure I wake myself up before the alarm does. I stare at the curtains that never shut out the light like I'd like them to; I wonder if it's the cruel sun peeking through keeping me awake, or if it's just my anxiety.

Anxiety wakes me often.

I'm dreaming of something distant and beautiful and suddenly, I'm reminded of the errands I have to run or the future life decisions I have to make. I roll over and try to block it out like I try blocking out that stupid ray of sunlight but anxiety insists I must plan out my entire existence right now. Anxiety asks why I haven't found a job or why I can't decide what I'd like to do in the future. Anxiety persuades me to believe the dirty dishes in the sink must be scrubbed immediately. Anxiety is a bitch. There's nothing beautiful about it.

And yet, the world magnifies the idea of mental illness, mental instability. Depression makes you deep and eating disorders make you a pretty disaster. And anxiety? Anxiety is glorified because it can't be measured in the same way your blood pressure or temperature can be. Anxiety means you're crazy on the inside, and that crazy is a good thing because it keeps you high.

These are lies. These are the lies that have found a home in the air we breathe. I don't tell people I'm anxious because I don't want to be attention seeking. I don't want to be crazy on the inside. But as I lay in bed with my eyes glued to the sliver of light coming through my curtains I think, maybe I am. Maybe I am losing control of the tiny bit of sanity left in my soul because anxiety tells me I can't control anything. Maybe I will explode like society wants me to—explode with emotion and tears and screams, anger and fear of the future. There is nothing wrong with me. There is nothing wrong with my life. But anxiety tells me otherwise.

I have chosen to stop catapulting.

Illness is powerful and suffocating but I have chosen to embrace the nuisance in between my curtains. I cannot destroy it, I cannot manipulate it, but I can tame it. I can roll over and close my eyes or I can yank the curtains open and welcome in life.

So I pull off the covers still sticky with August air and I open the curtains wide. There is a life to be lived and there is no reason to overwhelm myself, because even though sometimes it's tangled and bitter and unforgiving, life is a gift. When you're given a gift, you don't freak out about it until you've completely extinguished it. A gift is given to be cherished and utilized.

The curtains have been opened. The heat of the day is seeping through the window. I will not catapult. Life has begun.