I walk along these city streets, through curtains of rain washing away the remnants of winter. These are the streets of my childhood; I have returned to them. These streets were meant to knit together, weave themselves into my safety net. I spent years visualizing what it would feel like to once again have them solidly underfoot. I imagined them to emanate a sense of belonging and comfort. I did not, however, imagine the gaping holes; had not foreseen that I would take a step and end up waist-deep. That's what happens when you keep your eyes on the clouds overhead, and the horizon in the far distance, instead of the unsteady ground directly in front. Lessons are taught the hard way, and dreams tested to their limits.

I walk quickly, splashing through shallow puddles, fighting with the thieving wind for my umbrella. I accelerate as I try to outrun my thoughts. I quietly duck into a dark alley, trying in vain to lose Anxiety. He has been stalking me. Again. I thought I had left him. But, as it turns out, he was never far behind. I sit in a darkened classroom, inattentive, chewing pens, watching minutes pass by. I know that he is there, Anxiety, just outside that thin door, waiting for my exit. I won't be able to see him, but I'll feel him hungrily stare after me. I'll wheel around. He will hide just around that corner, behind that door, just down that dark hallway. Always just a little faster, just out of sight.

I hear his excited breath as he haunts me, waiting for that perfect moment of tentative relaxation. Then he will pounce, as lithe and as effortless as a jungle cat. He will attach, boring his tentacles deeply inside me. Slowly, the venom will release, poisoning my blood. Soon, my heart will be pounding, my breathing short, my voice choked. My head will drown in the onslaught of thoughts, all yelling for my attention, swelling my brain past the confines of my cranium. There will be nothing left to do but give in; be sucked down into the pile of shit. The pile of my shit. The shit of my own doing.

I have sat here before.

Same shit. Same pile. Relocated several hundred miles to the north.