Does Your Anxiety Get Better or Worse With Time?

When I was 21 years old I joined AmeriCorps in a different state where I spent a year doing things like white water rafting and taking teenagers on a prison experience trip. 

When I was 23 I took a 3-day long bus trip out to California to see my brother, and then took another 3-day long bus trip home, all by myself. 

When I was 34 I took that same trip, only by train. 

I had anxiety back then but it wasn't debilitating. I needed help but I could do things. And since I was used to dealing with anxiety with little everyday things like going to the grocery store, and going to work, I felt like if I was going to be anxious anyways I might as well have a new experiences. (This is the same way I have of thinking that I might as well have cats, even though I'm allergic to them, because I already have to take allergy medicine from my environmental allergies. If the world's going to try to kill me anyways, I might as well have a cat.) 

Now I'm 46 and it's a huge challenge for me to go to the grocery store on my own. I don't go to church because I just can't manage to do it on my own. The idea of having a job again makes my blood pressure plummet in fear.

Part of it is because when I was young, I thought anxiety was just a chemical reaction in my brain. But things really did happen and things really did go wrong. With every friendship that went downhill, I talked to fewer people. With every job that ended in disaster, I had less confidence. With every weird look I got when I was out in public, I got more shy. With every news story about active shooters in public places, I got more afraid.

I miss that part of me that still believed my autism was just a small obstacle to overcome. I miss that part of me that still thought I could do anything.

The True Story of How Angel Got Her Name

 

Usually when people ask how I got the name Angel, I just say it's an old nickname given to me by old friends in Chicago.

But here's the real story. 

I, at 18 or 19 years old, was not yet diagnosed with autism. However I had known for my entire life... At least for as long as I have had clear and conscious thoughts... That something was wrong with me. Something was different about me. I used to wonder if when I got older something in my brain would snap into place and I would feel like I belonged and like I was doing the right thing. But it never happened. 

Then I discovered this author named Doreen virtue. She wrote about angels. She said that some people were actually angels incarnated on earth. One of the ways you could tell that you were an incarnate angel was if you were more sensitive than others and had just more trouble fitting in with the human population.

As autistic people tend to do, I got obsessed with Doreen Virtue, and I read all her books. I was convinced that maybe I was not just a loser and a failure after all. Maybe I was actually an incarnate angel. 

The idea made me braver. When I was nervous or scared, I reminded myself that I was really an angel with invisible wings and an invisible halo. If people treated me badly, they'd find out later that they had treated an angel poorly. I loved the quote from the Bible, "be not afraid to entertain strangers, for many have entertained angels unaware."

Sometimes when I confided in people that I thought I could be an angel, they liked the idea, and they would sometimes call me "angel," just as a noun. The way somebody might call a friend "girl," like "What's up, girl?" They would call me "àngel." I liked it because it reminded me of the TV show"Touched By An Angel," where Tess sometimes called Monica "angel girl." 

For someone who has been yelled at, ridiculed and belittled by people at home, school, work, and everywhere you ever set foot, the sound of your own name can break your spirit. Since early childhood I'd been called Nicki, and never my given name Nichole. Being called Nichole already graded on my nerves because It usually meant that the person talking to me not only didn't know me, but wasn't really interested in knowing me. For instance, a receptionist in a doctor's office. I didn't really feel any connection to that name. 

On the other hand, the name Nicki had been uttered by so many people with such contempt, It was like people were vomiting it when they said it. "Nicki." What had probably been a cute name for a sweet toddler was now a name loaded with disappointment, anger, and ridicule. 

But I like being called "angel." So I started calling myself "angel" when I talked to myself in my head. Which I do a lot. And eventually I found myself introducing myself as Angel, now using the word as a proper noun. 

But I couldn't bring myself to give up the name "Nicki" completely. It's a name my parents gave me when they still had hopes and dreams for me. I didn't want to take it away from them. So I kept it as part of my name, although I almost exclusively introduce myself as Angel now. 

People sometimes ask which one I prefer. I usually say I don't mind either one, because I'm nothing if not accommodating. 

In my head I call myself Angel because it lets me be who I really am, rather than the ghost of how other people saw me. Angel is strong. Angel is brave. Angel has people who love her. And that is whoI want to be.

I Walk the Line

 One thing that is interesting about being a disabled person who appears to be "high functioning" or "normal" at first glance is that there is no place where I particularly fit in.

When I want totake a class. for example. I can choose to go to a class for people in general, or I can go to one designed specifically for people with disabilities.

The experiences are very different, but also neither one is really meant for me.

In a class for disabled people, there are usually plenty of staff members who are

very helpful and attentive. The directions are paced slowly. The other class members are

usually quiet and stay to themselves, although the more social ones usually try to engage

the staff in conversation. There is also a lot more supervision… for example, the staff

members might escort you to the washroom and help you put away your supplies.

In a class meant for people in general,there is usually only one or two instructors and

a whole lot more class members. The expectation is that you’ll keep up with the class or get helpfrom people around you. Most people attend with a friend. There is a lot of small talkamong the class members, and everyone is expected to be independent.

Lately I've realized that in order to be able to do some of the things I want to do, I'm going to have to go on my own. And 99% of the time, this would cause me to not do the thing at all. But I had told my mom about it when I signed up for this macrame gnome making class at the library. She was excited for me and wanted to hear about it. So I felt like I had to go. 

To me, especially on high anxiety days, leaving my house at all can feel like I'm stepping out of a rocket ship into outer space without a tether. It's a little easier when I know that there's somebody to catch me on the other end. But going to a class full of non-disabled strangers is not on my list of safe situations. 

I went though. I was brave. I got there late and sat down at a table with three strangers. I listened to them tell me what I had missed and I quickly caught on to the craft. I made small talk with the strangers and listen to their stories. 

Going to a class meant for the general population is especially  different for me because I have a lot of unconscious stims but I have to try to keep contained. I know that I'm always saying I should feel free to stim when I need to, and I do totally believe that. But it is a lot easier to relax and be myself when somebody else is with me. To defend me and to help me calm down if somebody says something unkind. 

When I'm on my own in a class full of non-disabled and neurotypical people, I automatically start out masking. But I am not super stellar great at masking. For me, masking mostly means being quiet. Yes I know... What, Angel can be quiet? Well yes, when I'm anxious and I'm around people I'm not comfortable yet, my words can vanish completely. 

So it is a big deal that I went and talked to people and actually enjoyed myself and made a macrame gnome. It's still not something I'm able to do everyday. But I'd like to try to collect some good days. 

It also doesn't mean that I'm always going to go too things for the general population and never go to places for neurodivergent or disabled people. In places like those, I can relax and be myself because I don't have to guess whether I'll be accepted. In those places, even if I am sometimes more independent than some of the people, at least I know I belong.

---

The Post You're Not Supposed To Write

"In studies of people who were first diagnosed as autistic in adulthood, over 60% reported having suicidal ideation. Comparatively, non-autistic adults reported rates of 4.8% for suicidal ideation and 0.7% for suicidal attempts."

Conner, Caitlin M., Amy Ionadi, and Carla A. Mazefsky. “Recent Research Points to a Clear Conclusion: Autistic People Are Thinking About, and Dying by, Suicide at High Rates.” Pennsylvania Journal of Positive Approaches 12, no. 3 (November 2023): 69-76. https://doi.org/10.29362/pa-jpa.12.3.2023.69. 

 You may have noticed that I stopped writing in this blog shortly after I started. 

I'm okay now, so don't panic, but I have been struggling with depression for a lot of this past year. It got really bad over the summer. 

I wrote the following post on a very hard day... But then decided not to publish it because I didn't want to upset people. 

I'm posting it now to show what my mind can be like during depressive episodes.

My kind of depression is chronic major depression. It will always find me. But I work really hard to stay okay, by going to therapy and support groups regularly, seeing a case manager once a week, and taking my meds.

Here is the post... Sorry it's so long!

I squandered the whole summer, my favorite season. All the things I wanted to do, I couldn't bring myself to do. If I stay home I'm safe. My cats love me. I have a weighted blanket. 

Every day of summer, I promised myself with the next day I would go outside. But then I would think of just being outside alone and it seemed stupid. Why you just go outside and wander randomly just to feel the sunshine? I might as well just stay where my cats are. I know for sure my cats love me and I never have to wonder. I am safe there. 

The summer went by and I didn't go to the river, I didn't go to the forest, I barely went to the garden, and I didn't even get a tan. 

As the summer came to an end it brought more feelings of failure and regret. My favorite season slipped out of my hands as the weather got cooler. 

One day towards the end of summer I decided I'd try to go swimming in our apartment complex pool one last time. I did go swimming sometimes but it gets tiring just going by yourself all the time everywhere. But when you find somebody to go with you... It's almost worst that that because what do you even do in a pool? Float around talking? Most people get bored and get out of the pool while I'm still in the water. 

So I convinced myself one last time I would go, so I could at least tell myself I did. And I put my bathing suit on and walk down to the pool. But it was closed forever. The cover was on it already. It was too late. I had squandered my chance. 

I thought getting social security would help. I won the case. The government will send me money every month for the rest of my life. And while it's reassuring, it's still not enough to pay my rent. So I will have to be dependent on somebody for the rest of my life. 

When you are too disabled to work, you lose your right to make decisions for yourself. If you do get to make your own choices, it's because somebody is allowing you to. There is always somebody nearby, ready to step in and take things away from you if they decide to. I get to live in an apartment because my parents help me pay my rent. Because my parents help me pay my rent, I have lost my adulthood and must follow special rules that nobody else who lives here have to follow. 

Getting social security means I failed at everything I ever tried to do in my whole life. 

I wanted to be a foster parent so badly, at age 17 I was already emailing foster care agencies to ask what the youngest age they would allow someone to be a foster parent for. (It's 21, by the way.) If I had known that even though I would grow older my brain would never mature enough to be able to take care of someone besides myself, I would have been devastated.

I wanted to be a special education teacher. It took me forever to get through college because the expectation of attending school full-time and working part-time was too much for me, so I had to inch my way through class by class, year by year. In the meantime I read every book about special ed teaching that I could. I read all the blogs by teachers and pinned their lesson plan ideas on my Pinterest board. The professor in my children's literacy class said we should already be collecting books for our classroom library, so I spent hundreds of dollars at library book sales and on scholastic book orders to curate a beautiful collection for my future students.

Even when my first student teaching assignment fell through because after the teacher met me she called up the college and said she didn't want me anymore.. And they pretty much had to bribe another teacher in a different school to take me on... And the professor who observed me suggested that maybe I should just be up paraprofessional... And another professor told me that I probably should think of a different job because teachers needed to be extremely organized and confident and prepared and with it...

People kept telling me that I just needed to try harder, that I could do anything. A lot of people told me I wasn't even autistic. My so-called best friend at the time insisted that I just had no social skills because I hadn't had friends in school. (By the way why didn't I have friends in school? Well it was because I was weird and the kids made fun of me. Why was I so weird? Because I was AUTISTIC.) Family members told me that I just needed to pretend to be normal, by studying what they did and copying them. Being just like them was the gold standard and in order to succeed I needed to try harder to do what they did. 

And I tried and I tried and I tried and I tried and I tried and I tried and I failed in every area. I failed in every area of my life. 

I wanted to write books. And I did write books. And when they weren't accepted by publishers, I found a way to publish them myself on Amazon. A few friends and family members read them and said they were wonderful, but nobody else ever noticed them. 

Over and over and over failure failure failure failure failure failure failure. 

And now here I am on the porch of my apartment, which is not really mine at all but belongs to my parents, who could take it from me if they decide that it's too messy or if they think I'm not grateful enough or if I let friends visit me who they don't like. 

The government will give me enough money to pay part of my rent but will leave me dependent on somebody for the rest of my life. 

Getting help from agencies feels like a failure too because all my life the expectation that was that I would work in a place like this, not receive services from them. When I say I'm going to a day center for people with disabilities, my family members will ask if I'm going to volunteer there or get a job there? The expectation is still that I will be normal. Even after all this, people are still expecting me to put on a business casual outfit and act like a regular person. 

But this porch is safe. My bonus dad put a net around it so the cats can come out here with me and I don't have to worry about them falling overboard. I've dragged sleeping mat out here and I can lay here with my weighted blanket. 

And people are horrified when they find that I am laying on my porch. But if I was laying on my couch watching TV, would that be better? Out here I have the fresh air and the sunshine. And I never much cared for TV. 

Shrouded in depression but not allowed to show it. If you're not smiling people don't want to be around you. "That person is just not a happy person," or "That person has a lot of problems," are considered very valid reasons to stay away from somebody. 

Some days I do arts and crafts at home, and it seems to lift my spirits. But some days getting my brain to focus and arts and crafts is like trying to start a car with a dead battery. I've paired my activities down to the things I must do. Therapy and doctor's appointments are requirements. A well-meaning friend invites me to lunch, and I go because I want to see them and because I appreciate their efforts to reach out, but the whole time I'm there I just want to go back to my porch. That art class I signed up for? Since nobody else is depending on me to go to it, I just stay home.

My Outlaw Brother's decision to move on to a better life that only marginally includes me was not the cause of my depression. Although it was probably the original trigger. Loneliness is a trigger. Finding yourself lonely and realizing that loneliness is the one and only thing in your life that will always be there... No matter how many people you are around, you'll always be separate... That is a trigger. Realizing that You will spend the rest of your life depending on others is it trigger. Realizing you're basically waiting to be old enough to be put in a Medicaid funded nursing home is a trigger. Realizing that you can't even talk to people about these things because it bums them out and they'll either ignore you or lexture you on eating more vegetables is it trigger. 

Will I even publish this post? Maybe... But I am in no mood to get concerned phone calls asking how I'm doing. I've told 

you how I'm doing. Now I just want to rest. 

No Doodles Allowed

"For neurodivergent individuals, the fear of being perceived can feel all-encompassing, consuming one’s thoughts and influencing behavior in nearly every social situation."

"The Fear of Being Perceived in Neurodivergent People." NeuroSpark Health. Accessed September 26, 2025. https://www.neurosparkhealth.com/blog/the-fear-of-being-perceived-in-neurodivergent-people.

I have a whole lot of things I would like to blog about today, but lately I'm having trouble getting motivated to do anything that requires a lot of thought. So today how about a random memory of an experience that neutodivergent people might be able to relate to? 

I was in college for about eleven thousand years because it was a struggle bus for me. In community college I was required to take a health class. 

I'm a major doodler. I'm a major fidgeter, actually.  I cannot sit still. Some part of me has to be moving at all times. I need something to be stimulating my brain. When I was in school, from kindergarten through my graduation from college, any worksheet or notebook I owned was covered with doodles. Sometimes I would just draw a random shapes and color them in. The very act of coloring with a juicy pen is a real sensory delight for me. In fact, in some of my lecture classes, I would just color in lines of my notebook paper with different colors of glitter gel pens. It helped me focus and it didn't bother anyone. 

Well, almost anyone. 

So this health class. Taught by a man who was surely a former high school jock, very full of himself, very disgusted by anybody who didn't work out on a regular basis. 

Like most classes, we would have a unit of instruction and then there would be a written test. Whenever I took any written test that wasn't one of those Scantron ones, I would usually doodle and draw in the margins of the paper while I was thinking about each question. Doodling could also give me a little sensory break between questions.

The first time I took a test in this class, when my test paper was handed back to me by the teacher, he pointed to the doodles and said, "What is this supposed to be, extra credit?"

I laughed politely and didn't think anymore about it. 

The second time I took a test in this class, when the teacher handed it back he told me in a low voice, tapping his finger on the paper, "If I see this kind of thing again, you failed the test." 

I cannot stand being reprimanded. Any neurodivergent people, can you relate to this? For me it comes from a lifetime of knowing the expectation was to never cause any trouble to anyone or give any adult outside of my nuclear family a reason to complain about me... and then always, no matter how hard I tried, causing trouble and giving adults a reason to complain about me. 

The shameful feeling that flooded me. The embarrassment. The sick feeling. The impulse that I just wanted to run out of the classroom and never return. All I could do was nod my head, unable to even make eye contact. I probably mumbled, "Sorry." The incredible shame of just being me. It was a physical feeling. Just sitting here writing about it, I can feel it like it was yesterday. 

Did I hurt anyone by doodling on my paper? No. Was I doodling swears, slurs, or other offensive material? No... Just random hearts and stars and maybe sketches of Snoopy. Yet that horrible feeling that I had unknowingly misbehaved, once again, and caused an authority figure to have to talk to me? I wanted to die. 

And for the teacher it was probably just a tiny, tiny moment. It was his class and he had every right to demand that people follow his instructions very, very specifically. If I had told him the effect his admonishment had on me, he probably would have called me a snowflake, or whatever version of that was something people said in the early 2000s. 

Just one small example of why everyday is filled with anxiety for me. Just by being myself, just by living my minute-to-minute life, I can break a social rule and get reprimanded. If somebody hates it when people are late, it's my responsibility to never ever ever be late when they are involved. If somebody doesn't like to be interrupted, I need to be very very careful to never under interrupt them. If there is a certain word somebody doesn't like... For example, I knew somebody who didn't like me to say, "Uh-oh" in a joking way because saying that should only be for when something was terribly wrong... Then it will be my responsibility to be vigilant about the words that come out of my mouth so that I don't cause them a moment of irritation. 

Yet as hard as I try, just by being me I always end up showing up late, learning stuff out, saying uh-oh in a joking way while playing with a child, and doodling on my paper without thinking about it. 

What is the point of this post? It's an explanation of how, for me, and maybe other neurodivergent people, being out in the world is like walking through a field of eggshells with landmines underneath them. 

Adult Children of Alcoholics

My life is full of therapy. In addition to my regular 1:1 therapy ( which is technically 1:2 therapy because there is a horse) I am in a life skills group, and a recovery circle for people with mental health and/ or addiction challenges. And lately, multiple people in my groups have suggested that I try a 12 step group as well. 

Most 12 step groups are for people with addiction issues. I've never struggled with those. My sensory issues actually protected me in this way. I could never cope with the tastes, smells, sensations, and physical discomfort most substance come with. But there are some 12 step programs that are for people who have had addicts in their lives. 

My choices were basically Al-Anon, Codependents Anonymous, and Adult Children of Alcoholics. I have been to Al-Anon before, and personally, it felt to me like trying to choke down very dry toast with nothing to drink. I know lots of other people find it helpful, but for some reason, I just didn't. The message seemed to be, "Quit nagging alcoholics, and worry about yourselves." 

I tried Codependents Anonymous, but I wasn't sure about it. In the meetings I went to, the message from many of the people who shared seemed to be, "If someone has problems, cut them out of your life so they don't drag you down with them." Story after story ended with, I no longer speak to those people, and I'm much happier." But I'm in no mood to start cutting people out of my life. 

So I decided to try Adult Children of Alcoholicss, which is also geared towards people who grew b up in any sort of dysfunctional home, even if nobody was addicted to anything. 

By all accounts, I am the one who caused most of the dysfunction in my family. This is backed up by plenty of research. Google "autism + dysfunctional families" and you will find lots of articles about how autistic children make life terribly difficult for their parents and neurotypical siblings. But since I do fit the description on the program's website, I decided to give it a try.

Unfortunately, we don't have ACOA in my city. The nearest meeting is in another city, in another state in fact. Depending on traffic, it can take anywhere from 16 minutes to an hour to get there. 

But I made the journey. That alone felt like a big success, because I don't usually like to go to these types of things alone. My Outlaw Brother used to go with me, but now he has a family that takes up most of his time. So I went alone.

It wasn't stellar, but it was pretty good.

The only reason it was less than stellar was because of me. I have trouble sitting quietly and listening for long amounts of time. Or any amount of time, really. At my other groups, we sit around a table, so I can color while I listen, and that is considered acceptable. But at the ACOA meeting, it was just chairs arranged in a circle. It didn't help that the chairs were uncomfortable. I fidgeted and squirmed the whole time, feeling like I had restless legs in my entire body. 

Plus, it's hard for me to pay attention to what people are saying. I have zero control over my attention span. I try very hard to hook onto what they're saying, but my brain is like an unruly toddler who runs across the room every time I glance away. This happens to me everywhere, but it's especially frustrating when it's something you actually want to listen to. 

The popcorn style sharing was impossible for me as well. In my other groups. either we go around the table to take turns speaking, or we do it in random order but still make sure everyone has a turn. 

But in this group, if you want to speak, you just blurt out, "Hi, my name is ___,"  and the en you start t talking. Everyone else seemed proficient at this. 

Not me. I couldn't do it. It takes me a while to formulate my words. By the time I would have gathered my courage to say something, someone else would already be talking. Every. Single. Time. By the end, I had given up on even trying. 

On the positive side, I did get something out of the meeting. The topic was self doubt. Over and over, people talked about how they never felt like they were good enough. They had learned in their families that they would always fall short of others' expectations. 

I could definitely relate to that. Even though other people had fallen short of expectations like, " Make sure your younger siblings have food to eat and clothes to wear, and get them to school on time, even the ough you yourself are only 10," and the expectations I failed at were things like, "Act like a normal kid your age," I could still relate. 

What I took away from it was, I don't have to meet anyone else's expectations or requirements in order to be good enough. I just have to do whatever is manageable for me at any given time. 

ACOA might not be ideal for me, but it's worth giving it a chance. I ordered the red book, which is the same concept as the AA "Big Book." And I will keep going back. 

I Was Born a Stranger Thinking Out Loud In a Foreign Tongue

This looks like me!
But it's actually a stock photo. 

"Communication differences, sensory sensitivities, and unfamiliarity with neurotypical social norms are common challenges that can make forming and maintaining friendships difficult for Autistic people."

Edwards, Chris, and Abbey Love. “Friendship, Loneliness and Belonging in Autistic People.” Reframing Autism. Accessed September 12, 2025. https://reframingautism.org.au/friendship-loneliness-and-belonging-in-autistic-people/

One comment made by a lot of people who meet me is that I'm almost always around guys, and not around a lot of women. Actually some people phrase it as, "You like to spend time with men," which sort of gives me the heeby-jeebies. I usually just think of them as guys, or dudes, or sometimes brothers. 

Part of the reason is that I'm not often accepted the way I am, by females. They see me as another female, so they wonder why I'm not more like them. Why don't I carefully style my hair each morning using various tools? Why are my clothes always dirty and the opposite of trendy... And why don't I show more skin? A grown woman should not have her breasts blocked by bib overalls. Why don't I wear makeup? Why aren't I neat and clean? Where are my acrylic nails? Carrying a loaded backpack instead of a purse is strange. Why don't I have a boyfriend? 

The assumption seems to be that I should want to be more like them, but I just don't know how. So they focus on trying to help me get there. The truth is just that none of these things are me. I'd be wearing a costume and trying to play a part. 

Guys, on the other hand, often just accept me as a different kind of mystery. Sometimes they are curious and ask questions, but not in a judgemental way. 

Honestly, I don't completely relate to either women or men. I feel like I relate more to animals than to people at all. Like, wouldn't life be better if we all had fur and didn't need clothes, and nobody had to worry about looking or acting any certain way? 

I wonder if men who aren't as masculine as they're expected to be feel the same way, but the opposite? If you're a not-super- masculine dude, do other men seem uncomfortable around you, or try to get you to act more masculine? And do women tend to accept the genuine version of you? 

What about non- binary people? Does anyone at all accept them fully?

At any rate...Currently, the two people I enjoy spending most of my time with are both men. The first one, I call my bonus dad. The other, I call my brother. This is not, by the way, because I'm trying to replace my actual family. It is because words are important to me and I like them to be right. My connection with some people is so strong, that to call them "friends" feels wrong. Even "best friends" is too weak. I love them in a forever sort of way. So they're family. Most people are fine with just referring to all non-legally-related people as friends, because the feeling of the relationship is what's important to them, not the specific word. But words have always been the things I understand most. 

I have never had regular friends that you hang out with but maybe not every single day... Especially not friendships based on mutual interests and favorite activities. In school, my friendships were based on whatever kids in my grade were also unpopular and got bullied. Either the teachers would stick us together, or we would find each other, standing alone on the playground or in the gym. 

Those by-chance friendships can be really strong. But I wonder what it would be like to make a friend at a dog park and start doing dog activities together. (That's just an example. I don't even have a dog. But I do like dogs. So I would still do dog activities if the hypothetical friend wanted to.)

My bonus dad and my outlaw brother are willing to do activities and go places with me. They grin and bear it because they know I probably won't go alone. Sometimes they even end up having fun! Like when I used to get them to color with me, or when we walked down Peacock Lane. But these aren't things they'd ever choose to do if I didn't ask them. 

I just don't have a lot of regular friends. I realize this could be because it usually takes me a long time to stop being anxious around people. For many people, it takes a long time to be completely comfortable around someone. But for me, often, I'm actually fearful around most people. By the time I feel all the way safe with someone, our lives have become pretty much intertwined. 

How do you make new friends and hang out with them without having to be nervous at all times?  I will cancel plans with all shorts of people I'd like to spend time with, because the more the idea of hanging out becomes a reality instead of a hypothetical idea, the more anxious I get. Eventually the anxiety overwhelmed me, and I escape from it the only way how... By running away from it.

PS... I'll be really excited if anyone knows the song the title is part of. Without asking the Internet. 

PSS... I call him my outlaw brother because people ask me if we're actually legally related. I don't know if we're related, because I haven't gotten him to do a DNA test yet. So here's my outlaw brother.