I will forewarn you: this is gonna get deep. Hold your nose if you must, though I'd prefer you let my words soak in.

I am an extraordinarily anxious person. For those of you who cannot immediately empathize, an example: I have a club meeting later, as in eight hours from now. At this club meeting, I don't have to speak, don't even have to nod my head. Frankly, I just have to show up. But despite the simplicity of it all, I am thinking about it all day. What will I be doing before, so I can make sure I show up on time? What if I am expected to do something I am unprepared for? What if somebody looks at me in a funny way? What if...?

Every day I walk around weighted with thoughts. Not only do I have to worry about my classes, my social life, my clubs, my diet, my exercise; I have to worry about taming my mind, quieting the burdening cogs that run endlessly, taming the screams of my conscience so I don't lose it completely.

It is a responsibility unlike any other. I cannot ever find true solace, because my mind is always there yelling at me, reminding me of the essay that's due in three weeks, the presentation that's a month away, the harmless workout I must do tomorrow. It's an internal battle.

I'm not trying to sound dramatic, I am merely being truthful. Being anxious sucks. Really. I sometimes wish it would go away. I sometimes try to think about what it's like to not worry, to sit and watch Netflix without obligation tapping on my shoulder. I think, wow, how lucky I'd be to live like that.

My anxiety makes me a planner. I created an excel spreadsheet of all the classes I have to take until the end of my college career and the corresponding semesters I want to take them. Sounds crazy, right? I figure, one less thing to worry about. But no, this ends up backfiring, because the more I plan and try to work things out, the more I set myself up for disappointment.

I spent a semester and a half formulating a strong petition that would hopefully allow me to apply, just apply, to the Disney College Program. I had it all worked out: College Program to Professional Internship to entry-level job to, one day, Disney Imagineer. Petition: denied. And my perfectly planned world came crashing down.

What if the semester I plan to take a class, that class isn't offered? Panic attack. What if there's a new class I want to take that wasn't worked into my plan? Tearful call home about how my life is in shambles and I've lost all control.

It's called pre-crastination. That sounds like something many a college student would kill for, but OH NO! It's called anticipation. It's called getting distracted in Architecture class because you're thinking too much about catching a bus three days from now. It's called dialing your dad in hysterics, getting asked "What's wrong, sweetie? Is there something bothering you?" and responding, "It's everything, daddy. It's everything but at the same time it's nothing, because I know there's nothing I should be upset about. I just am."

At this point, I know that if my parents are reading this, they're crying. Sorry mama. It's even hard for me to talk about. But this last point I made is very important for others to understand what happens in the mind of an anxious person. I know that there's nothing to be upset about; I go to a great school where I learn things that genuinely interest me, participate in clubs that excite me, and spend day after day with friends who love me dearly. And on top of that, I have an unparalleled home life to go back to whenever I want and the best parents in the entire world (great, now I'm crying). But none of this seems to matter to my conscience.

I am beat down, depressed, day after day, because I cannot escape my burdening thoughts. Right now, I'm thinking about a radio show I have to record on Friday, because it'll only be my second time, and my transitions were a little rocky last time... But who the heck cares other than me? Who is even listening to Lafayette College Radio at 9-10am on Fridays? (Yes, this is a plug... go to wjrh.com, thanks. It's called "The Good Stuff.") Honestly, nobody is listening, and nobody is going to care if there's a two second silence in between my silky smooth voice and "Subdivisions" by Rush. But my mind won't let me believe that, regardless of how hard I try.

Alright, so I'll wrap up this sob story. If you've made it this far, you've probably lasted longer than my mom who is definitely unable to continue through her tears. But I don't need anybody to feel bad, I just need you to hear and accept. This has been the story of the me who lives inside, who I fight with every day to keep inside. I figure, if you want to get to know me, to be my friend, to live in a world beside me, you should know exactly who I am, inside and out. I am living with anxiety, but I am thriving with anxiety, and I think that's important to share.

And now that I have shared, that's one less thing to worry about.