One of the worst parts of living with high functioning anxiety is the audience.

Every time there is a face to be faced while I am trying my best to hide the way I'm feeling, it's as if I exist in two realms with a foot in each. I am in a room full of people while the waves swallow me whole. I am at a rehearsal or in class or talking to my coworkers, and inside of my chest, there is the weight of ten thousand crashing planes. It's so hard to only want to explain to people: while we are having this conversation there is a screaming under my skin that I haven't been able to silence for weeks now and I'm sorry that I am the worst, I'm sorry that we are even talking right now, I'm sorry that I am so needy and ridiculous, I don't know what's wrong with me and-

It goes on and on, and they see it. It feels like they see it.

When I'm experiencing a wave of my anxiety--and it's been days of the feeling of impending doom--having to look people in the eye and feel like they must know they are speaking with an insane phony is torture. But, admitting my internal dialogue out loud seems worse. I will tell the onlookers, the crowd, and my peers that I'm just having a bad day. I'm just tired, I'm just stressed out about XYZ--logical things. But, I can't sensibly explain why.

High functioning anxiety is like living in a glass box while still trying to function in the outside world. When the walls are clean and the air is fresh, it's like you can't even tell it's there sometimes. But, eventually the glass smudges and fogs, the air is sucked out of the room, and everyone around can still see you gasping. It feels like they can see you gasping. But everybody else seems so fine. They all are in the same general space and yet they are fine... and the ball keeps rolling. Panic breeds panic and the sudden hyper-awareness of my abnormal emotions just heightens the emotions. Recognizing my anxiety makes me feel worse when it happens because I can't excuse myself when there are so many others around that seem to be just fine. They can handle it and you are just crazy.

Living with high functioning anxiety means having to smile while you suffocate. It means doing what everyone else is doing while you feel like you don't belong there or you're doing it wrong or it doesn't even matter. It means having to attempt to make your heaviness more palatable for people. It means having to feel like a liar when you say everything is fine, but a psychotic when you say it is not.

I am wracked with anxiety that I cannot explain, and I don't want to lose my grip on everything in life so I am here, but I want to be anywhere else.

During these passes of anxiety, I am often functioning at my maximum ability. I need you to know that, but I don't want you to know that. I will show up and I will fight as hard as I can; I will force my legs into action despite the weight they bear these days. People will see me operate this way, and that's just the way it is. No matter how much I wish I could change it, I am aware that they may notice the little things that I miss: the events I don't attend and the smiles that don't always reach my eyes. I'm sorry. I'm sorry to scream so silently in front of the world. Even still I will remind myself to be quiet. This is the reality of high functioning anxiety.