Every year i get anxious, sick to the stomach, hot vomit pool up in my lungs, knives scratch up my scalp as seconds turn into dust.

Every november i get anxious, as the world turns colder and this feeling that i cant shoulder keeps coming back to me.

Every birthday i get anxious, that im one year older, that im getting closer to days where i will struggle, days where i will have to choose who i want to be.

Every day im anxious, that the present im holding will soon be over. That today i will be a day older, a day closer, to my birthday.