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I wish I had eyes on the back of my head, to feel unread.

I tense every time I walk in front of someone and they’re laughing with their friends.
I wonder what they’ve said.

“Are they laughing at me?”
“Can they see?”
“Do I look out of place and in a state?”

Of course. I’m out of place.

Why am here.

Let me disappear.

I can feel the hairs prick up on my neck.
I can hear my heart racing to the sound of my pacing.

“Are they staring at me?”
“What are they thinking?”

I hope I don’t see them again.
I’ll probably see them in ten.

They hate the way I look.

My eyes fill with tears needing to get out of here.
What if I have a panic attack and see me thinking I’m dying.

Wait, I recognise the voice. My friend?

She’d never want me to shed a tear.

Its my mind, my social anxiety that imprisons me in my fear.

Oh. Dear.