I try telling my fear not to panic about panicking, but it’s like trying to talk a cat out of stalking your yard. It doesn’t listen.

I am exploding as I walk home from the bus stop.

It’s like there’s a monster hanging on to me that I can’t shake off. If I knew what I was afraid of then maybe I could reassure myself… but I’m not afraid of anything in particular. I grit my teeth and kick leaves in frustration.

When I get home, I try to explain this nightmare to my mother. I break down crying in the middle because I feel so worn. She hugs and comforts me. It warms my heart until I’m stuck in the whole torture again and feeling just as helpless. I’m getting the sense that she doesn’t really get it and my heart breaks. I can’t brave this storm on my own.

I try my father and he really doesn’t get it. “Why be worried about nothing?” he asks. I go to the bathroom and turn on the sink so I can cry. I’ve never felt so misunderstood in my life.

The next morning, as the sun pries my eyelids open, my mind scrambles to know, “Is it here?”

My heart drops to my stomach in response, and I know it is. The tears have barely dried on my face from yesterday (and the day before that and the day before that), and again I have to go through the wringer?!

I drag myself to the sink to wash my hands. Maybe I can get myself just to get dressed.

I take out a bar of chocolate for my signature rich, hot drink. The liquid tastes sweet on my tongue; my heart is bitter but the fact that I got myself up and ready sweetens it with a couple of grains of sugar. It might not tame the storm inside, but it can get me through the next minute.