My anxiety is like a prison, my fears a set of chains that keep me bound in panic. Every moment I seek to break free, I ponder, trying to come up with a way to slip out of those chains, and open the prison door. Bloody and bruised. Weak and broken. I cry, I scream, I beg. I’m tired of fighting. The desire to give up is strong. But I won’t stop. I can’t. Because to give up means my anxiety wins.