On Tuesday evening, I went to freshman Bible study, like I normally do. The group and I sat in the lobby of one of the dorms, socializing to pass the time until more people arrived. I got a text from one of the girls in the group, saying that she could not make it to study that evening.

However, she had reserved one of the study rooms in the dorm for us to meet in. The study room is for public use unless reserved, and a few students had set up in there already. One of the leaders made a joke that she would kick them out now with the boot she was wearing over her broken foot, before politely telling those in the room that we had it reserved.

The worker at the finger print station didn't find her joke funny and proceeded to tell us how rude we were being. The leaders tried to explain to him our situation, but he insisted that we didn't have a right to the room. I felt a sinking feeling in my stomach. When we began study, I was distracted, my eyes fixated on the door separating us from the man.

Even though it had nothing to do with me, I felt like he was angry with me personally, and that I had done something wrong.

Eventually, the man found some students to tell us that we didn't actually have the room booked. The leaders apologized, and we all made our way out. The man at the station wouldn't drop it, however, and he and the leaders went back and forth explaining their position.

My heart began to race. My breathing became more shallow.

I wanted to tell the man off, but instead, I chose to run out of the building.

I practically fell onto the top step, willing my lungs to take slower breaths. It might have worked if not for one of the leaders coming to check up on me. When she asked me what was wrong, I could feel my body shaking. My heart rate ceased to be controlled. I searched for words to say that I was fine, but all I could get out was "No!" over and over again. I raised my voice to scream "No! No!", as I beat my hand onto the concrete step repeatedly, begging my tongue to form sentences.

Fortunately, I had someone there to hold me as I tried to slow down my movements and bring cohesiveness to my speech. I had someone to reassure me as it became too difficult to even keep my eyes open. I had someone to understand me when I finally calmed down and expressed how sorry I was, how I blamed myself for everything, how I felt like there was something wrong with me that made the man behind the counter so hostile.

That isn't always the case though. Sometimes, a professor will talk too fast, and I will sit there immobile, unable to lift my pencil and take notes, unable to open my mouth to speak for fear of broken shouts coming out to frighten the class.

Sometimes, it's attending my boyfriend's rugby game when the parents become hostile towards the ref, leaving me to run off and sprawl out on the pavement, banging my clenched fist against the ground in an effort to make myself alright. It's hearing two songs at the same time or trying to reconcile my mother's list of items to pick up off the ground and bring upstairs, or not being able to finish a workout because I think that everyone is looking at me, finding fault in my performance.

In many ways, anxiety runs my life.

I can't let most food touch on my plate, walk across the street without using the crosswalk, or talk to strangers without feeling like my heart is going to burst out of my chest. So much of functioning in the world for me is deliberately willing myself to process, to go out, to live. Often, that means convincing myself that I can do everything, piling up activities until I have no time to unwind and breathe.

When I do it too much, which is most of the time and even more now that I'm older, my body periodically shuts down and forces me to stop. I haven't figured out a perfect balance. I don't know how to tell myself that so much that happens in life is not my fault, and that I'm not inherently bad just because certain things don't work out perfectly.

I'm not good all the time. I don't do things well all the time.

I still feel that if I worked harder, tried harder, or was better that it would mean there is nothing wrong with me. It's not true, and I know that, but I'm still in a place where I buy the same lies time and time again. I break down. I get up and force myself to be fine so I'm not the bad, inconvenient girl. The cycle repeats, and I don't know the way to break it yet. I'm not sure if I ever will.

What I do know is if I'm ever going to live my life anxiety free, I need to start with honesty.

There are some things in life I cannot do. There are times in life I push myself to break, and that's okay. Everyone has moments of brokenness. Everyone has idiosyncrasies that govern their existence in some way. Being weird and feeling deeply are not sins or curses, but signs of humanity.

I don't know how to fix myself or make how I feel go away, but maybe that's a good thing. Maybe there is beauty to be found in my insecurity that I just don't see yet. Maybe there is purpose beyond my frustration.

Maybe there is hope.