Living with anxiety is a trip. It’s like one minute you’re fine, jamming out, walking around, completely untouchable. And then the second your focus is gone and the music fades out, it’s over. You’re left staring at a single piece of old gum on the sidewalk watching the cracks and the stains spin around you in whirlpool of emptiness. Am I real? Is anything real? Does it matter? Drowning in nothing and everything and no force of will can pry you off of the concrete until the spinning slows and the din of life starts to replace the thundering waves in your ears. And then you exist. Tired. Hollow. Lost. But you get up. Time keeps moving, deadlines keep creeping, expectations keep pounding. With or without your consent. Your presence. Your understanding.