If I were brave.

What a tiring day...and I haven't even done anything. I guess seeing my chem grade this morning kind of put a bummer on my late start, and after that I wasn't in a mood to do anything more than...wallow in self pity I suppose.

The test wasn't as bad as I imagined, but it wasn't good, especially compared to the B average the class as a whole made. Though I know I am not stupid, inept or just plain incapable of academic success in some areas, I can't help but be a little hard on myself when things don't work out as I have planned.

And this test didn't work out how I planned at all. I made an appointment to see her(maybe get some points added to my test for making an effort in wanting to pass her class), on Monday. See if she has any suggestions on how I can improve. I mean I know what she will say " go to study group, do some problems in the book, read the chapter..." but my real motive isn't going to get tips, but so she can see who I am, that I am trying and will bump my test up a couple of points. Who could resist this face.

We'll see what happens.

As I was wandering around the library, still pretty disappointed about the test, I remembered that I have to draw/write who anxiety is for therapy on Wednesday. I still only have the words Anxiety written on a piece of paper and a crappy drawing that resembles some cartoonish figure.

It's harder than it seems. How are you suppose to create something out of nothing. I mean trying to write what anxiety is to me, is almost as hard as trying to define who I am. Literally I have stared at the piece of paper with anxiety written on it and nothing has come to mind. It ended up in the garbage.

But as I was listening to a song today where the singer sang "get out of this house", the writer's block lifted. The dark cloud left and I became aware of what anxiety is to me. It is my house, it is the place I reside. It is not a person, someone who I lean on to protect me from stressful situations. But it is a place that I have built and reside in.

It makes perfect sense(at least to me), I admitted to the therapist that ever since I moved to this new place that I have suffered somewhat from anxiety. I mean of course it wasn't as apparent as it is now, it was probably subtle attacks that I mistook for just being an awkward teen.

Ever since moving, I have felt misplaced. Like I don't belong anywhere. I am struggling to find my way back home. Leaving the safety of everything that I had loved and cherished was damaging and then to be thrust into this new life and place I felt kind of like an orphan. I felt alone and unsecured in the new and frightening place I had no shelter from. I mean I had my mom and Morgan but I didn't have the sense of home anymore.

Year by year, as I became more and more uncomfortable with who I was because of everyone around me, I built walls. I must be a great architect or something because until today I hadn't realized that not only had I built walls to prevent the insecurities/connections/happiness in,but I have built a home. This orphan has grown up and built herself a house. A house called Anxiety and I am it's only inhabitant.

It's a comfortable place, a place that I return every time the outside world scares me.

Once a place that protected me from the judgment and insecurity, has suddenly become my prison. And though it is nice and comfortable, with it's many bedrooms, huge living room with every movie I could ever want, it is becoming hard to live there.

There are several walk in closets, many windows to let the sun in, and even a secret garden which I have the key too . There are rocking chairs, and bed with fluffy pillows. A library with my favorite books. A kitchen a top chef would love, and a bathroom with the the classic tubs.

It is an amazing structure on an amazing piece of land. From time to time visitors are let in. My mom has a key, my brother uses the spare, and Marie is asked over for movie nights. But in due time they too must go back home. And after a long day, sipping cocoa on my back porch staring out that the sky littered with stars, I can't help but wonder what's outside these walls. I can't but help feel like even though everything I need is inside this house, it is missing that certain thing that makes it home. But I fear what's out there, I fear that whatever lies beyond the horizon will turn me away and I will no place to run back to.

For now I sit comfortably in this House of Anxiety. With it's strong walls. A house that warms me during the cold, and promises it will always be there , a place for me to return to. Promises me safety and love.

But I can't help but wonder what's out there, and I can't help but feel like this house has become a prison.

I think that's what my anxiety is.

Now if I could only draw this house, make it something...So I can learn to live without it. It's okay to have a shelter, but not a house that never lets you out. Or that you are frightened to step out of. It's weird I feel like it's some sort of agoraphobia I am dealing with. But it is not a physical fear of stepping outside of this structure. It's this mental and emotional isolation that I fear letting that out to the world.

But I am becoming increasingly frustrated with this beautiful house, and I wonder more and more what's outside these walls.

It may not be as stable or secure, but perhaps has what i am looking for.