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The Experience Intimacy makes your skin crawl. Someone wants to be physically close—a hug, sitting next to you on the couch, or just a casual touch on the arm—and your body reacts like it is under attack. Your muscles tense. Your breathing changes. Every cell in your body screams at you to get away now . It isn't about the person. It could be someone you trust deeply, someone you know would never hurt you. But your body doesn't care about logic. To your nervous system, the cl

The Experience Daylight is manageable. Nighttime is unbearable. As soon as the sun sets, you feel the shift. The anxiety rises, your body tenses, and your mind begins to race. The darkness itself feels threatening—oppressive, dangerous, and heavy. You might keep every light on in the house—lamps, the flickering TV, your phone screen—anything to push back the shadows. People might think you are afraid of the dark like a child, but this is not about monsters under the bed. This

The Experience You're exhausted. Your body is screaming for rest, your eyes are burning, and you can barely think straight. Yet, the moment you try to lie down and close your eyes, something deep inside you resists. Staying awake feels safer, even though the exhaustion is slowly destroying you. When you do finally sleep, it isn't rest; it's a minefield. The nightmares are vivid and visceral, often indistinguishable from reality. You wake up gasping, sweating, and heart poundi

The Experience You know it's irrational. You do it anyway. Maybe you avoid entire sections of the grocery store because the specific lighting makes your chest tight. Maybe you take the long route to work just to avoid passing one specific building. You can't watch certain TV shows, listen to specific songs, or enter rooms with a particular layout, and you can't explain why. People ask, "What's the big deal?" Logically, you know there isn't one. It's just a store aisle. It's

The Experience Your body reacted and you don't know why. Someone moved too fast near you, and you flinched—hard and defensively—before you even processed what was happening. A door slammed, and you instinctively hit the ground, pressed yourself against a wall, or froze completely. By the time your thinking brain caught up, your body had already acted. You didn't choose to do that, your body just... did it. The rational part of your brain knows there's no real threat. You can

The Experience Something tiny happens, and your world collapses. Someone cancels plans, and you instantly spiral into the conviction that everyone abandons you eventually. You make a minor mistake at work, and you are consumed by shame and self-hatred for hours. You can’t find your keys, and you have a complete breakdown about your own worthlessness. The worst part is that you know it is disproportionate. You watch yourself falling apart over something that doesn't warrant th

The Experience You're angry. At everything. At nothing. At people who don't deserve it. Something small happens, and you're instantly furious. A minor mistake sends you spiraling into a rage, and you find yourself snapping at the people you care about most. You're irritable, on edge, and ready to explode at any moment. But underneath the noise of the anger, there's something silent that you can't let yourself feel. Anger is seductive because it's active. It feels powerful. It

The Experience One moment, you're fine...you're going about your day, relatively stable, managing life. And then, without warning, you're drowning. A wave of emotion hits you so hard you can't breathe, think, or function. It might be rage that makes you want to destroy everything, or terror that freezes you in place. It could be grief so profound you cannot stop sobbing, or shame that makes you want to cease existing. And you have no idea why. There was no obvious trigger. No

Living Behind Glass The Experience Something happened that should matter but you feel... nothing. Good news arrives, and you are blank. Someone you care about is hurting, and you're numb. You're at a celebration, going through the motions, watching life happen from behind a pane of glass. You remember what emotion felt like and that feelings exist. But now, there is just static—a void where the joy or the pain should be. But you want to feel. You know you should care so you

The Experience Everything's fine right now. Nothing bad is happening. Things are actually going well; you're safe, life is calm. And that terrifies you. Instead of relaxing, you find yourself waiting, scanning, braced. In your experience, peace isn't a destination; it's simply the setup for the next disaster. You can’t enjoy the good moments because you're too busy preparing for the other shoe to drop. Every happy moment feels like it has a countdown timer attached to it. Whi

The Experience Your heart is pounding. Your breath is shallow. Your muscles are coiled tight, ready to run. And absolutely nothing's happening. You might be standing in the grocery store, sitting in a dull Tuesday meeting, or walking down a perfectly quiet street. The world around you is calm, but your body is in full emergency mode—sirens blaring, adrenaline flooding your system. You know there's no threat. You can see with your own eyes that you're safe. But your nervous sy

The Experience You're in your own home but it doesn't feel like home. The space where you should be able to exhale—your bedroom, your apartment, your sanctuary—feels... wrong. Not explicitly dangerous, perhaps, but certainly not safe. You find yourself checking the locks multiple times. Your body refuses to settle, even when your logical mind knows nothing's wrong. You're standing in the safest place you have, yet safety is the one thing you cannot feel. It is almost worse wh

The Experience Time doesn't work right anymore. You know it's the moment present. You know you're standing in your living room. You know logically that the dangerous thing isn't happening right now. But with equal and terrifying intensity, you're there —in that moment, in that place, right when everything went wrong. You effectively exist in two timelines at once. Your rational brain insists, "This is now, that was then," but your experiencing brain can't tell the difference

The Experience Your mind insists that you're safe, but your body remains unconvinced . You can’t always remember the details clearly; sometimes the memories are fuzzy, fragmented, or completely blocked by a brain trying to protect you . You tell yourself to move on and to let it go. But your body rebels . Your shoulders tense when you hear a specific tone of voice, your stomach drops when you enter certain rooms, your hands shake when someone stands just a little too close .

Reliving the Past The Moment You thought what happened was over. You dealt with it, moved forward, and felt safe. Then, without warning, you're there again, not like a memory, but you're living it again. Your body tightens in the exact same way, your breath catches and even though you know you're safe right now, the fear feels as immediate as if the danger were right in front of you. Your nervous system doesn’t care about your intellect. Maybe it was a smell, a specific nois