I’m on a boat.

I’m 7.

I remember boats can capsize.

I begin to doubt the integrity of this boat.

I panic.

 

I’m in a car.

I’m 12.

I drive past an American flag and remember war is happening somewhere in the world.

I begin to wonder when war will come to America.

I panic.

 

I’m in a classroom.

I’m 16.

I realize I’m a direct shot from the window.

I begin to wonder when an active shooter will arrive to kill me.

I panic.

 

I’m on a bike.

I’m 21.

An ambulance drives past me.

I begin to wonder when a car will hit me.

I panic.

 

I’m in an office.

I’m 22.

My therapist explains how my thoughts are atypical.

I begin to recognize my problematic thoughts.

I’m surprised.

 

I’m at my doctor.

I’m 22.

I explain what my therapist has told me about my thoughts.

I begin to take medication.

I hope.

 

I’m on a couch.

I’m 22.

I’m too depressed to get up and eat.

I call my doctor and they adjust my medication.

I try again.

 

I’m on a boat.

I’m 23.

I enjoy my time with the ones I love.

I realize I haven’t had a single thought about the boat capsizing.

I relax.