I sit here in my temporary dorm, soaking in the noise around me and the newfound freedom of college, even if it is just orientation. I sit here and try not to let my mind get the best of me.

I have suffered from anxiety since I could remember. Its birth forming from differing genetic and environmental aspects of my life. I find myself slipping, more often than not, into a feeling I cannot control. I describe these fits as something entirely out of this world. The event of my anxiety is similar to that of a train traveling at a thousand mph. My head is geared toward the window where I am forced to watch the world spin as increasingly loud, vitriolic words fill the cracks and creases around me.

I cannot control my anxiety. No matter how hard I want to. I did not want this nor did I deserve this. I believe that those who suffer from anxiety or any other mental illness may believe that some part of it could have been avoided and in turn, was a part of their own failure. Triggers happen, as mine are usually correlated to a certain smell or a fleeting word uttered about a past stressor.

It's hard for others to understand the workings of mental illness because of the stigma around it. For those who suffer and fight through it, you're not alone. You may feel like you are alone and in that feeling comes desperation. We see through the media how those who are scared by the unknown, just as most humans are, may not get the chance to educate themselves on the world of mental illness and struggle themselves to find enough empathy in their hearts because of it. Education is the first form of compassion.

So I sit here, just as I always do when the train is churning out a million thoughts at once and I am here to feel it spin by, and I try to do small rituals to come back to myself. Listen to a playlist I made with soothing songs, eat a snack that makes me feel healthy, reaffirm myself with positive self talk. Years of professional training. Therapy acting as a splint to an area that needed some assistance.

There is nothing wrong with therapy, though some people think otherwise. In my therapists I have found bits of myself. I have learned how strong the brain can be, whether it's power was for good or evil. I have learned how adaptive the body is to a moment of fight or flight, doing anything to ensure my safety, even when it wasn't compromised in the first place. In my therapists and my anxiety, I have learned just how driven a person is to live and live with fear and without fear all at the same time.

I'm not sure if this is a forever thing. I can't promise that one day I will wake up and never feel that train coming. I can only promise that I will try to redirect its course and find my whole self again in the meantime.