Anxiety

*This story is entirely fictional, and any resemblance to actual events or people is purely coincidental

Another sleepless night. I can't remember the last time I had a good night's sleep. Oh my goodness, did I lock the door? I'm not sure—I should go downstairs to check. That noise… it sounded like a ring or perhaps a thud. I really need to check if I locked the door. I'll get up now.

It's 3 o'clock. What should I do now? I think I'll grab my pencil case and start coloring. I remember doing that as a child. I had a little box with drawers full of colors that I called my magic box. I would imagine that the box could take me to a faraway world, deep into the night. Sometimes, I'd stay awake waiting for dawn while I colored. Yes, I remember. Maybe I should turn off the light and go back to sleep; that sounds good.

It's now 5 o'clock. Then it’s 6… now it's 7. Should I get up? It’s 9 o'clock now. All right, I’ll get up now.

I'm awake, and my first thought is about the mail. I’ve been waiting for a letter for days, but it still hasn’t arrived. In the meantime, I get up and go to wash. I grab my washcloth, toothbrush, and hairbrush to freshen up. My mind keeps drifting back to the letter that hasn’t come yet.

A week ago, I had a sudden panic attack and couldn’t catch my breath for a few minutes. The next day, which was Tuesday, I went for some tests, and the results were supposed to arrive three days later. What day is it today? Oh yes, it's Monday. Oh my goodness, nothing has arrived yet! Six days have gone by, and still no results. How on earth is that possible? Could there be bad news?

My grandmother always used to tell me, "Keep a close eye on yourself; you never know when something might come up that you can prevent." She followed her own advice diligently, having routine check-ups, medical examinations, and tests to screen for every possible illness. I should have listened to her. Anyway, I’m fine now. Wait, did I wash my face? I can’t remember. I’ve been so focused on thinking about the test results that haven’t arrived that I’ve been on autopilot.

I sit down at my desk and begin working. I have two 1,000-word articles to write by Thursday, and I still have no ideas. Lately, I find it difficult to think; my mind is clouded with worries and distractions. Writing has always been my passion. As a child, whenever my teachers asked what we wanted to be when we grew up, I would always say, "I want to work with words." I read voraciously, devouring countless books; I could never get enough. Yet today, not a single word seems to come to me. I am reminded of what my friend Elena used to say: "A head full of fears has no room for dreams."

At the end of the day, after seven cups of coffee and a meal thrown together from the weekend's leftovers, I've only managed to write a single 500-word paragraph. Anxiety, worries, and the letter that still hasn't arrived weigh heavily on my mind. What now? What if I can't finish the two articles by Thursday? Who's going to tell my boss? Will he fire me? I slip into a deep state of anxiety, and suddenly I write 1,500 words in one go. But where did they come from? I don't even know myself. It felt as though the typewriter keys were pressing themselves; I was typing so fast. I've finished! I've written both articles, and now I have three days to revise and finalize them. It feels like magic.

Now, I'm off to bed to sleep—at least for as long as I can before my anxieties wake me up in the middle of the night. Then I'll pick up my magic box once more and fly away.