“It's going to be okay,” you tell me.

You think you're helping, that your words will provide comfort to my situation, to these self-deprecating thoughts that have been put into overdrive. You're trying so much to be helpful that I can't bear to tell you those words are empty and that my anxiety has already ripped the sentiment to shreds. The voice in my head? She's already pointed out every reason, ever instance, that proves things will not “be okay.” The fact that my grades aren't high enough, there's not enough on my resume, I say a lot of the wrong things, I talk too far much, I'm negative, loud, I can't seem to get things right.

I can tell you want to say something else, you want me to feel better, or at least to make me feel less upset, but you're not sure what, and if you say one more thing that sounds like some inspirational poster, I may not be able to keep my composure. I fiddle with my hands, you stare at me, I can feel it, things like that burn.

“Everything works out.”

I almost wince, but I remain composed. Everything works out? Please. If life has taught us all anything, anything at all, things don't always work out. People disappoint you, you disappoint yourself, life isn't fair, and we have to suck it up and deal.

You know...Sometimes? Sometimes, I wonder what you and everyone else is thinking when those lines spew from your mouths. I feel annoyance for half a second, but then I remember you don't know. You don't know that things like going out to the movies or sitting in class are torture. That going through the daily motions and being “happy?” Well, it's exhausting. That sometimes, all the time, I need to remind myself to breathe.

You don't know.

You don't know how making a mistake seems to haunt my thoughts for hours and maybe days after the fact...sometimes months.

You don't have it.

That voice. That feeling in your gut. That clenching in your throat. The constant critic in your head showing you how everything you've done will somehow bite you in the ass. The voice that keeps telling you everything around you will always be so big and you will always be so small and there is nothing you can do to stop it.

You don't have them.

The nights where it feels impossible to sleep from the racing thoughts in your head or the times when you cry and can't seem to stop and you can't even remember what you're crying about. The times where you need to hold your breath or hold yourself as tight as you can, just to calm down your breathing, just to center yourself, just to feel secure. You haven't been in the throes of an anxiety attack, where your chest heaves so much and the sobs are barely audible because you can't catch your breath and your thoughts are racing so fast you can't remember what got you on the floor, curled up, panicking in the first place.

But you don't know and that's not your fault. You don't know and it's okay, at least you're here. So, I give you a small smile and nod.

“You're right, probably all in my head. It'll be fine.”