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11 pm. Everyone in the house asleep, except for me. And so, my anxiety invites herself into the room to keep me company. She takes what was the air and makes it into her pool. She does laps around the room and I hold my breath, submerged, paralyzed, at her whim. My anxiety is clever. She likes to play dress up. Sometimes she shows up disguised as spiders. Other times a man in the corner of the room. I'm asleep. I'm awake. I'm somewhere in between. She is with me everywhere. 

I see her. I don't mean figuratively. She manifests herself and does whatever it takes to get my attention. She is screaming. "There's something going on. You're feeling something. You're uncomfortable about something. Please. Know yourself. Figure out what's wrong. Do something about it. Let me go." Because my anxiety, she doesn't want to be there either. Who wants to be the guest that's only invited when the party is over? She is the messenger. I do my best to embrace her (and in turn, fully embrace myself). Thank you anxiety. Thank you ME.