I know that anxiety is bad. I know how bad it is sometimes. Not all the time, but sometimes. I’ve seen what anxiety can do. I’ve watched as it slowly washed away the things that mattered to me. Matter. They still do, anxiety just makes love hard. I’ve washed as anxiety has taken away the people and things I love by distancing me from them. By poisoning my mind with paranoia. By making me think that I am not lovable. By making it seem like the world is against me. When I was a child, I had a fear that everyone in the world was an alien disguised as a human. This is the first time I have ever written this fear down, though I have told it to some of those closest to me. I think of how strategic these traitors would really have to be, going through all this work, putting certain people in my life, just to make me suffer. Learning that the Harry Truman Show was a thing didn’t make my fear any better. The fact that people would actually do that. It was, is, unbelievable. This fear has stuck with me. Every time I meet a good person, anyone that I like, anything that I’m doing good at, I fear will turn out badly because these traitors in my mind are trying to ruin me slowly. But, there are good moments. There are certain moments when I feel like the world is truly what it should be. That there are no traitors and everything is okay. There are certain people who I know are either truly there for me, or a major part of the biggest con in history. There are certain moments, though. When I first flipped through the zine, American Bleach Drinker. That was a moment. A book, well, a zine, I guess, that was so fit to my personality. What I was trying to morph it into, anyway.