I don't know what's worse: the bull pulsing glow of my notification light or the sterile, sickening glare of the bathroom light above. Warm white, it said on the box. Warm white my ass.

I'm laying on the bathroom floor again, feeling nothing. My eyes glaze over the reflection of my phone to see my haggard face, my creased eyes, bloodshot gaze, parted lips. I look like shit. I feel like...I don't even know. Every movement feels impossible, every subtle twitch of my finger like heaving an entire mountain. My body is sluggish, my thoughts heavy. Everything's so...it's too much effort.

Overwhelmed. That's the best word I can use to describe the situation. I'm overwhelmed and insecure. I'm not sure if my heart's going to give out before my body does under all this pressure, this weight. I clench my teeth, ball my fists, and resist the urge to scream. I don't want my nosy neighbours calling the police again. I don't want to see their smug faces when a man in blue knocks on my door for what feels like the 20th time to ask if I'm okay, and if I need to be put on a list. Donning the mask is tiring enough.

'Have a drink and you'll feel better', they say. 'Come dancing'. Fuck dancing. Fuck socialising. The only thing worst than the overwhelming anxiety that courses through my veins is the loud music, thumping too hard for my delicate ears. I don't need people shoving past me for their next round to drinks to feel something. I don't need a woman sliding her hands up my body, the stench of cigarette smoke and hairspray assaulting my nostrils. 'Take her home and you'll feel better', they say. It doesn't help. 'It gets better', they say. Does it ever?

I heave myself from the bathroom floor and grip the lip of the counter, lifting myself high enough up to stare at my face in the mirror. I smooth my features over, brush down my fur, wipe the damp from under my eyes. Just looking at myself brings on anxiety. I'm ugly. I'm fat, and I'm ugly. My breath shortens and the world spins. It feels like the walls are caving in. Wouldn't it be easier to just give up? I look down at the pill bottle left discarded, contents strewn about the counter, and resist the urge to keel over. No medicine is strong enough.

It feels like my skin is crawling. I want to peel my fur off and dig my nails into the undergrowth, rip out my flesh to stop his incessant tickling feeling, the unbearable tingling that threatens to drive me mad. I can't take it. I can't do this. I slump, my legs giving out under my, and my knees crash against the tile floor. I grit my teeth and moan out something akin to a sob against the sink's lip. Help me. I want to give up. I want it to stop. I wish I could, but I can't. I'm chicken shit. Stupid. Insecure. Lazy. It's not in my blood to follow through.

My phone notification light blips in the corner of my eye and I grab it, unlocking the screen and scroll through. My anxiety worsens, but I don't know why. No, fucking idiot. I do know why, but I can't admit it. I won't admit it. I can't even talk to myself about how I feel, let alone anyone else. I hate this. I hate you. I hate me.

It's suffocating. I can't do this anymore. I heave myself up again and stagger to the door, shoving it open. The hallway is dark and quiet, its features bland. I need air. I can't breathe.

My legs take me to the bedroom, to the balcony, and I step out into the cold air, looking out to the city below. Lights sparkle in the distance, car honks scream into the night air, people below laugh and chitter. My body complains about the cold but I breathe it in, sucking in the air. I like the cold. In a stupid way, it makes me 'chill'. I'm such a fucking idiot.

My fingers clench around the railing and I sink to my knees, admiring the dark sky above. I could lay here all night. Maybe I will. It's dark and bland up there-- not a star winks down at me. That's light pollution for you. My eyes go to my phone again, clutched in my hand, hard enough for my knuckles to whiten under my fur. I flick to the messaging service. It's someone. They're saying hi. They're asking how I am, if I want to meet up.

Maybe not today.