For people with anxiety, there's never a one fine day. I wait for bad things to happen. For bad omens to show up. There was never a good that lasts forever. Things will always fall apart. A relationship would always end. People would cheat. Friends would leave. Sky will turn to grey and rain will heavily fall on that garden party you already prepared for three months. Things never come easy for me. Whenever I finally talk about my feelings to someone else, I eventually feel glad that something coming off of my chest. But then I realize that I am involving other people with my unnecessary problems and wondering whether I causing them too much problem because of my story. I often wonder whether I should keep those problems to myself and do I scare the people with my problem--due to my overthinking that I am apparently telling and revealing too much of myself. I've dealt with anxiety for as long as I can remember due to my childhood trauma. I was raised in a condition...