Anxious

The world thrums with a low, insistent hum, an undercurrent of nervous energy that only I can hear. My stomach churns, a washing machine on spin cycle, and my thoughts dance in a frenzied ballet, rehearsing every possible misstep, every whispered doubt. My skin prickles, the air feels laced with static, and every breath is a shallow gasp, the world closing in like the walls of a shrinking room. This is the orchestra of anxiety, an unwelcome maestro conducting the symphony of my fear.

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