"I have been afraid for as long as I can remember: of loud sounds, bright lights, big voices, things that move too quickly (time, people) and things that are too colorful (the sky, Earth)...."

"Anxiety moves through me top-down. First, my mouth. I’m completely frozen; my breath is in short, shallow whispers, like a mouse breathes. Nausea sets in, and my tongue dries up. My saliva’s gone. I’ve woken up from daylong anxiety attacks with my jaw tender, the joints in my hands stiff from clenching them into tight fists. My voice becomes a tiny thing. My hellos and goodbyes to my co-workers are ignored, because my hellos and goodbyes aren’t audible. Which, of course, gives me more anxiety. Then, my stomach. I don’t eat, and I only ingest to survive: a diet of coffee, Red Bull, and benzodiazepines.... Am I chewing too loudly? Do I smell? Does my smile look fake? And the negative self-talk, oh, what a carousel of put-downs. I suck. I don't belong. I'm bad at my job. I shouldn't be alive... They hate my loud typing. They can read the texts I’m sending to my husband. I’m walking too loudly. They’re laughing at me. I’m being watched. They, I, They, I. It’s frantic chatter of self-hatred, fueled by the caffeine I’m guzzling because I’m sleeping poorly, because I’m dreadfully exhausted...."

From "It’s ‘a frantic chatter of self-hatred’: This is how I experience anxiety/My negative self-talk is a carousel of put-downs" by Silvia Masuda (The Lily).