Platform Nine and Three-Quarters

Anxiety is not knowing that you are pulling your hair out until you’ve got a bald spot on your head and the other kids are laughing at you. It is eating when you’re not hungry because the repetitive motion of food to mouth, food to mouth calms you and you don’t know why. It is holding your phone in your hand when you don’t even want to use it, because its rounded edges and smooth screen make you feel safe. It is rubbing at your wrists because you think the motion encourages your blood to keep pulsing at least one more minute and maybe if you tell your heart to pump it’ll be okay, it’ll be okay.

Anxiety is realizing that your mind is a receptacle for every honeybee and wasp and hornet without a home and not knowing whether to accept them with open arms or exorcise them. Every bee has a name and their names buzz around your head without hope of relief. Their names are Your Next Assignment Due, and What If He Doesn’t Love You Anymore, and You Will Never Amount to Anything.

Anxiety is hearing news that the boy you grew up knowing died in a motorcycle accident and replaying that accident in your mind over and over until you swear that you died with him. It is always pondering the worst case scenario: it is driving on a highway and keeping your hands from driving you off the edge just so you can be sure for once what something feels like.