Hi. Let me be the Lemony Snicket, and let's travel through the Series of Anxious Events.

You're sitting at your desk, just trying to focus on the slide of bullet pointed information in front of you. It's been a long day. Classes were sluggish, you're sluggish -- hell, even your coffee is like sludge.

Here. It happens here.

Gently, slowly, like a caressed whisper on the back of your neck, the heat will grow. Feel it blush across your cheeks, down your throat, and curl into your chest. Then your hands will turn pale -- yes, in front of your eyes, the color will leave your fingers like all the blood is fleeing from the outside world to hide into the depths of your torso. And that is when the crawling, prickling, tingling sensation against your skin wraps its arms around your neck. Finally, it has gotten you.

But the professor is still lecturing. Your friend sitting close to you is about to crack a joke, leaning over to snicker in your ear. But your throat is dry, and your mind isn't in the classroom anymore. It's out the door, fleeing down the hallway, leaving this mess of a body to lock up and maintain a mold of normalcy.

That's the thing. Anxiety happens whenever, wherever, however. I have had panic attacks in the middle of group discussions, on buses and trains, between classes and bites of my lunch. I've even had a panic attack just laying on my couch. It never matters where I am, or how I am feeling in that moment. Anxiety is a phone call from an unknown number: You have no choice but to answer it, and what it says, you do.

I don't think you're understanding all of this yet.

If you want to truly experience the closest form of what it is like to have anxiety, set an alarm on your phone for random times. Every thirty minutes, every two hours, perhaps twice at noon. Once the alarm goes off, go to the nearest set of stairs and close your eyes. Step down backwards. Yes, go down the stairs backwards, eyes closed, arms crossed at your chest. There is no sight or support. Just trust that you won't fall down.

Doesn't sound like something you'd be willing to try, does it?

Anxiety is that feeling at the top of the stairs before the first step, and a panic attack is missing the step and falling into the air.

This all may sound terrible, uncomfortable, and scary. It is. My hands, for example, are always icy cold. Nobody likes cold hands. My heart pounds in my chest enough to where if you watched the shirt I'm wearing closely, it's twitching from my strong pulse. Nausea follows me like my shadow.

But my anxiety disorder has changed my life for the better. Anxiety has pushed me to snowy mountaintops for snowboarding and traveling a thousand miles to attend college. Anxiety has helped me utter out my deepest feelings to people, my opinions to those who disagree, my hopes to my fears. Because once I learned how to use my anxiety for the betterment of my life, everything changed. I learned to chase the adrenaline, to embrace the gasping lungs and shaking fingers... and do it anyways. If I'm anxious about something, chances are I'm about to do something that will improve my life. Talk to that special someone. Sign up for that crazy adventure.

And sometimes, my anxiety is just there to be there. Sometimes, it really does get in the way and knock me down. Those moments are even more rewarding, because when I get back up -- when I keep fighting -- I feel even more triumphant. When I don't let my trembling body keep me from doing what I want to do, I am even stronger.

The next time you hear someone tell you "I have an anxiety disorder" or you already know someone with it, realize who you're looking at. A nervous, shivering, quickening, roaring flame for life.

"These people who fight through every day like f*cking gladiators, who fight demons worse than you and I can dream of, just because they want so badly to live. To hold on. To love. Because you can't be this afraid of losing everything if you don't love everything first. Because you have to have a soul-crushing hope that things will get better to be this afraid of missing it." -- Catalina Ferro, "Anxiety Group"