A parade of happy loving people pass me by on the street.
They notice my tears but keep going on as if I’m just a passerby amongst them.
I’m screaming. Please. Anyone help me.
How I long to be apart of their smiling faces going on as if the world isn’t full of angst, grief, and morbidity.
Anxiety creeps into my brain synapses like an old friend and I can’t breathe. I grasp my neck and close my eyes.
This must be how I die, I think to myself.
Will my parents be ok? What about my friends? Who will take care of my cat?
As the anxiety sneaks away like a thief in the night, I relax.
Who can I call?
Who will listen?
My palms sweat and my mind turns to the deepest darkest thoughts.
My mind is not a good place to be alone.
It’s the equivalent of a child walking home in the woods in the middle of the night; it’s frightening, lonely, and makes you want to run.
But where to?
I’m looking for a hand. A voice. Someone to tell me: ITS GOING TO BE OK, ASH.
But no one hears me.
People from the parade begin to disperse into various shops, ordering their coffees, trying on new shoes, while I come to my senses in my front seat at the grocery store, unable to get out of my car.