I Wish You All the Best

by Mason Deaver

Mostly my day comprised absolutely freaking the fuck out

This isn’t your fault.” I know that. Deep down, I do. But right now it’s hard to swallow. To accept it.

If you’re queer, your life has the potential to become one long coming-out moment. If I ever want to be called the right pronouns, I’ll have to correct people and put myself out there first and who knows what could happen.

“I swear, I love that dog, but he’s a total doofball most of the time.”

I can’t help but feel like this will somehow all get back to Hannah. Like there’s a bug on my clothes or something and Hannah can hear every word I say from her spot in the waiting room.

A big theme in my anxiety

With patients dealing with depression and anxiety, medication can be a godsend.

True

We’re enough for each other. At least in this moment.

I try to stifle a laugh. “The goal of every queer person is the extermination of the cis, straight, allosexual people.” “So that’s the gay agenda?” Hannah laughs.

“Touch aversion can be common in people who deal with panic attacks, or people dealing with anxiety.

“She seemed nice, your mom.” “Hmm.” I sit down next to him. I’d be shocked, but that’s the normal reaction when it comes to Mom and Dad. They put on that mask for strangers or family friends. Slipping in a backhanded comment about me here or there.

Nothing feels faker than typing out false enthusiasm while I feel like I’m rotting from the inside out.

“Because even when I finally got out of that goddamn house they still had a hold on me.

And remember: Whatever happens, I wish you all the best.