My apartment felt too crowded. It was so hot, and I couldn’t breathe in there. I had to leave. I had to leave my anxiety. Now I’m anxious at the student center. My head feels like I just got done spinning in circles, and my heart is beating forcibly against my ribs. I’m anxious at the student center, but I look just like everyone else here; a college student on her laptop, getting some work down before the weekend. I look just like everyone else here. I’m trying to gather all my thoughts but they’re moving so much faster than I can grasp. I’m afraid of myself. I’m afraid of my brain. I’m afraid that if I can’t control my thoughts, can I control my actions? I look just like everyone else here. I don’t look like my body is craving anything but coffee or like I’m dizzy because eating solid food makes me nauseous. My head is screaming. My heart is screaming. I’m sitting at the student center because I wanted a minute alone. A minute of silence. A minute alone from my own constructed chaos. I have a meeting in an hour. My body aches from stress, but I’ve been hiding in bed all day. I didn’t sleep last night, but that’s nothing new. I look just like everyone else here. I don’t want to be sitting here alone. I don’t want to be sitting here at all. I was safe in my bed. I’m safe from myself in my bed. There was no line at Starbucks. I should’ve gotten food to get rid of this pounding headache. My bones hurt. My brain is numb. My muscles shake. But I look just like everyone else here.