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There’s a heaviness that comes with every morning. It’s not the kind of weight you can see or touch, but it’s there—settled deep within, like a thick fog that clouds my thoughts. I wake up, and before I even open my eyes, I can feel it. It’s like the air itself is too thick to breathe.
I’m not new to this feeling. Anxiety has been a part of me for as long as I can remember. It doesn’t always look the same—some days it’s a tightness in my chest, others, it’s an overwhelming need to escape everything around me. It’s always just beneath the surface, ready to surface when I least expect it.
At work, I try my best to push it aside, to look like everyone else. I’m good at pretending—my colleagues probably wouldn’t guess how much energy it takes to keep my composure. From the outside, I’ve got it all together. I’m doing well in my job, handling project costs, talking to suppliers, updating Excel sheets, all the things I’m supposed to do. But inside, it’s a different story.
It’s a quiet struggle, one I don’t often speak of. The endless cycle of overthinking every task, second-guessing every email, wondering if I’m doing it right. I know what it’s like to want to hide from everything, to retreat into myself because the world feels too big, too loud, too demanding.
But here I am, taking small steps. Writing this down is one of them. Maybe this will help me make sense of it, and maybe, just maybe, it’ll connect with someone who feels the same. Because, even though anxiety can feel like an isolated world, I know I’m not the only one living it.
This is just the beginning of my story, and I don’t have all the answers yet. But one thing I do know: I’m learning to navigate the chaos, and maybe one day, I’ll find peace in it.
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