The world feels like a room full of razorblades and no matter where you move or walk, you’ll get cut
And thats what anxiety is like, the world is the room and we’re in the center with all the razor blades around us and we just are scared of life and moving forward because we are scared we are going to get cut and hurt or that we might even get so hurt where bleed out.
So we stay stagnant and sit in our spot not moving so that we don’t get cut by the razors, we don’t get hurt. But how can we feel anything if we don’t move? Finally, the fear of the blades and anxiety becomes too much, so we need to move.
But instead of making an incision in order to end it all, I realize that I cannot end it, so I realize I must fight the razors. I put my head down, and I move forward towards the door. Despite all the pain from the razors and anxiety, I move. And finally I think, I’ve made it out the door. I have plenty of scars and cuts and wounds. But here I am. Outside.