Waking up every morning became a chore in and of itself; waking up meant that I had to step back into reality, while always craving a few minutes longer in the fictitious world where I felt safe. A world in which I didn’t have to worry about every move that I made, every word that I said, and every action that I took. This world gave me a break from the overwhelming weight of anxiety that seemed to pull me back into its entangling web every time I tried to escape it. Just a few minutes longer, pushing back the moment where I had to enter the real world, where I had to face it head-on. This was the most difficult part of my daily routine—the part that I dreaded the most—it meant that I couldn't hide from the rest of the world. Where the walls I tried to build weren’t allowed, where isolation wasn’t an option, where socialization was a necessary component of not drawing attention to myself. Doing any of these things would beg people to ask “Are you okay?” which was always answered with a friendly smile, and a “Yeah! I’m fine!”. I couldn’t give a reason for people to ask that, because then they worry and become concerned, which would only draw more attention to myself, the last thing I wanted. 

Opening the car door, I took my first step into reality, launching into my day of constant distress and overexaggerated anxiety about every minuscule and irrelevant thing that would probably appear normal to a regular person. The second my foot touched the ground of the parking lot it was like a warning signal had gone off in my head: blaring sirens and flashing red lights telling me to get back in the car and drive home. I could feel the pit in my stomach—which never seemed to go away—grow bigger with every step I took. All the sounds around me seemed to fade into nonexistence as the pit grew with intensity. The more that it grew, it started pushing everything away, every sound and every other stimulus around me. This sudden surge of anxiety was the only thing my mind deemed important at this very moment. Soon enough, the group behind me that was laughing just seconds ago seemed to melt away as if they were never there. Car doors slamming shut and the subtle sounds of them locking drifted away like specs of dust in the wind. I started slipping into the world my mind puts itself in to block everything out. But I was jolted back into reality by the startling greeting of Grace yelling, “Hey, Cody!!” from behind me. The little heart attack that she gave me peeled off the web of anxiety that started to wrap itself around me.

As we walked into the school I only heard snippets of our conversation. My mind constantly thought, “watch out for the crack in the sidewalk, we wouldn’t want to fall, because that would be embarrassing. Lift your feet higher, we don’t want to trip. Careful on the ice, we might fall. Is my sweatshirt riding up? I better fix it,” each sounding like deafening whispers all coming in at once—overwhelming me. I kept zoning in and out of the conversation giving the acknowledging “mhm” and a subtle nod of the head to make it seem like I was engaged and not worrying about every possible thing could go wrong or draw attention to myself. Soon enough, and unknowingly, we had walked into school and ended our conversation with our goodbye’s, though my mind was too caught up with worrying to even notice Grace had left. My teacher had apparently said hello to me as I walked into class, contemplating even more things that could go wrong for the rest of the day, and how to prevent myself from humiliation. The day stretched on like every other, always craving to get home and slip away into my world. But I couldn’t do this at school or anywhere else, because I needed my mind to be in the moment. I couldn’t put up my walls, I couldn’t isolate myself; I needed to socialize. I had to tear the walls down and force myself to at least appear normal, despite others likely thinking I’m not. 

Every second that I spent in my real self made me want to escape it to the world where I didn’t have to worry about every single interaction that I had or everything that I did. Slipping into it now and then was my mind’s way of protecting itself from a full-blown mental breakdown. Stepping into my world allowed me to be the person I always dreamed of being. I always imagined my other-self as someone who could do anything, without having to worry about it. My alter ego was the person I became when I stepped into my world—to get away from the constant worrying and distress and the never ending anxiety of humiliating myself. To just be able to have one normal day was all I wanted, but the condition I had never allowed for this. It never gave me a break, not even a single day off. Some days were worse than others, but having the comfort of coming home and being someone else was what I craved every day. Being able to step out of reality and into my world was all that I seemed to want. But the second I would get home every day, I knew in the back of my mind that tomorrow I would have to repeat it all again. What now seemed like a daily routine was more like an emotional rollercoaster, where the conductor’s name was Anxiety and he forced me onto this ride every day of my life.

I never knew why I always had this overwhelming anxiety, I just knew it was there and that it never went away. It was always standing there like a bold and ever present silhouette, never telling me why it chose to overtake my life. I always let it stand over me while I hide in its shadow, too afraid to stand up to it. Petrified that if I tried to tell him to leave, it would only make it worse. The only way I could escape his shadow was to drift away into my world, where my fictitious life couldn’t be stained by the shadow of my real self’s anxiety. My world was kept safe by keeping them separate, not allowing my two selves to interact, otherwise, my real self would find a way to ruin the world I created. 

Eventually, I decided to find out what had overtaken my life, to finally see what had been choking out any sort of pleasure that I tried to find, I wanted to shed light on the dark silhouette that never wanted to reveal itself to me. I was ready to face it head-on, and finally, escape the shadow I had been hiding in. It turned out the silhouette had a name: Social Anxiety Disorder. Casting a spotlight on the thing that had crept its way into every aspect of my life was a life-changing day. I was finally able to become in control of my thoughts, words, and actions. I finally didn’t have an overwhelming desire to drift away into my world. For once, I felt at peace with my real self, not wanting to be someone else, but rather content with the person I was. I could now feel the world that I had depended on the most drifting away, in the same way, I had drifted into it, time and time again.