I don’t remember the last time I didn’t have anxiety. I think that’s the case for a large swath of people in the world, but of course, I can only speak of my own experiences. It cripples you. It prevents you from opening a door, from pressing a button to send an email. It’s the soul-crushing “What if” that haunts you throughout the day. I feel mine in my stomach first. It feels like the blood is being drained from my arms and legs.
Jack Torrance had to deal with his own demons, though. The anger and the drink were his main faults.
I become light-headed, and the pit of my stomach is so dense I think I might throw up blood. I’ve never been able to express it with the magnitude that I think it deserves. Even now, writing this, I can feel horrible thoughts creep up that could possibly render me immobile. The only thing—the only book that has ever come close, hell, at times, it full-on succeeded—was The Shining by Stephen King.