Social anxiety is like a thief, stealing away my identity until I am no longer a person, just a shell where the anxiety hides, whispering my fears like a tainted lullaby. It's words are sweet poison dripping from an IV and flowing through my veins at an unstoppable speed. It's there on my dark days, on my bright days. It is the friend that has overstayed their welcome who you cannot seem to budge, the weight on my chest I can't seem to dislodge. It claws it's way up my throat and out my mouth as I sob into the pillow wondering for the thousandth time why I seem so different from everyone else. It is the monster in my closet, the one that no matter how many locks I put on the door it still seeps through, like a hazy mist across my vision turning my every day tasks into twisted versions of reality. It is the obstacle I must climb over, sapping my energy like hungry plant roots suck the moisture from the soil until my body is nothing but a desert of emotions, waiting for the rain that will never come. It is like a roller coaster that I did not wish to board, only it never crests that peak, only climbing higher so I get the tiniest glimmer of hope just to slip back down that same hill and begin again. It is a dark room with no doors and no escape and I am it's prisoner. I am no longer identified as a person but as the disorder that consumes me. Hello. My name is Social Anxiety.