I'd like you to imagine something for me. Pretend, just for a moment, that you have a second head leaching off your face. Like a giant freaking tumor hanging off your cheek. But instead of popping like any other gross facial blemish, this second head just sorta sits there and tells you a bunch of horrible things that could possibly happen no matter how unlikely or ridiculous. You could be walking along the street when you spot a cat and your second head panics.

"It's feral! It probably has rabies! It's going to bite you and you'll die a slow and painful death! Foaming at the mouth! Barking at strangers!" your second head shrieks. Even after petting the stray cat and watching it calmly walk away without a fuss, your second head goes on about how it will bite infect you with rabies.

And even after you forget all about the cat, your second head still voices concern over something else just as irrational. As if it's constantly searching for something to be worried about.

"That mole on your leg is probably cancerous! Someone is going to break into the house while you're sleeping and steal all of your scented candles! What if you have a sudden brain aneurysm?"

Congratulations, you now understand what an anxiety disorder is like.

I've had mine for as long as I can remember. I never envisioned monsters under the bed or in my closet. I remember freaking out about things that were much more real- like the concept of death and loss. Also any kind of board game that made noise or spoke, which I was convinced was possessed by Satan and would wake me up in the middle of the night. Also, Pasqually the Chef, that stereotypical Italian bastard is going to unhinge his jaw and swallow me whole some day.

"FEED ME MORE SOULS"

When I was about 10 or 11, I kind of stopped worrying about animatronics from Chuck E. Cheese and started worrying about my moral standings. For some reason, I felt the need to apologize for the most minor of things. As if I was constantly being judged by adults and I had to atone for the grievous sin of doodling in my notebook during class.

It became apparent that something was screwed up in my head and I was sent to a psychologist who decided that I had an anxiety disorder. After all these years of panic attacks late into the night, avoiding sleepovers, and thinking I was crazy it finally had a name.

My anxiety never disappeared, but it had a period of rest. It was assumed that I would just grow out of it but by the time I was fourteen it came back stronger than ever. No matter of ignoring it until it would go away would keep it at bay. I was always thinking about when my next anxiety attack would happen and how embarrassing it would be. It was overwhelming and I felt trapped in a bubble. I could look out of the bubble and see everyone else walking around like normal kids but I was stuck in a stupid bubble freaking out constantly. They lead normal lives, and I was too afraid.

One of the worst parts was always how much of a burden I was to everyone else. I would panic about the most mundane things and nobody else could really understand why. Even after being calmed down and told how irrational my fears were, I would still worry about them. There was very little consoling me, and it was bothersome to everyone who tried to help. I could be calmed down from worrying about something stupid only to have another panic attack about the exact same thing a day later.

It was during a checkup that I was particularly anxious about that a doctor suggested a list of therapists and prescribed me an antidepressant. I didn't realize it at the time, but that was the beginning of my fighting back. It took 16 years for me to find a way to combat the anxiety disorder that had consumed my entire life. It took a few months for the antidepressant to start working, and it took about a year to get used to taking it on a daily basis. It's been about eight years and I'm still taking that medicine, Zoloft. The idea was that it was just a short term solution for something I could get over with a few visits to the therapist. Not only am I still taking Zoloft every night but I'm still seeing that same therapist. Somewhere during that time I realized something rather bleak, I was always going to have this anxiety disorder and no amount of therapy could take it away. Maybe I can come to a point where I can stop taking the Zoloft and I don't need to see a therapist anymore, but even then my anxiety disorder is going to be something I just have to deal with.

While regularly seeing a therapist, other issues came to light. Anxiety and clinical depression are twin sisters, forming the worst superhero duo of all time and I happen to be one of their victims. Not only am I prone to freaking out about everything, I'm also going to be sad about it for some reason. My anxiety disorder I've learned how to manage, but depression is still something I'm trying to learn how to fight.

It doesn't always seem like it, but I've come a long way from when I was in that doctor's office at 16 or curled up in my bed at four years old in a panic. It comes from little victories. A big obstacle at one time was a daily bus ride I was taking to my vocational high school, which was about 45 minutes long and plagued with the most awful brand of music being blasted nonstop on the driver's radio-country. A school bus being a particularly grand scenario to have a massive anxiety attack while I'm trapped in a vehicle surrounded by my peers. I got off that bus for the first time at school and promptly made my way over to the nurse with a stomachache. At my therapist's suggestion, I took something to distract myself while riding the bus. That, for me, was a Game Boy, which I played every morning on the 45 minute ride to school. After beating Super Mario Bros 11 times, riding the bus back and forth became a breeze and I no longer had to worry about it. It doesn't seem like much at all, but it was the first step I really took to conquering anxiety. And now I can ride a bus without even needing a Game Boy to distract me. Eat your heart out, Batman, whose the bravest man on earth now?

While I can manage my anxiety, I still feel trapped behind it. That metaphorical second head feeding off my cheek still likes to come up with worst case scenarios to scream about while I drive to a place I've never been to before. Sometimes when I haven't had enough sleep or I have a lot of stress bogging me down it can convince me to panic over something nonsensical. I still have to make myself go to social events but it's a lot better than simply refusing to go out of anxiety. I still cautiously look behind my shoulder to avoid Pasqually and all of his animatronic horror, but anxiety is no longer the ball and chain it used to be. It's a significantly smaller ball and chain now.

So if you yourself are dealing with a second head that likes to scream in fear on a constant basis, I'm not sure I can offer you much advice other than to be patient and take each obstacle as an individual challenge. Taking prescription drugs is undesirable, but it won't turn you into an emotionless zombie. You aren't crazy or insane, you just don't process fear the way most people do. And as hard as it can be, pull through and don't allow your anxiety to keep you from going about your life. Most importantly, though, as lonely as it feels you aren't the only person on earth with anxiety and the bubble you live in isn't nearly as small as you think it is.