I sit in the lobby anxiously waiting. My hands shoved inside my pocket anxioulsy scratching each other as an effort to calm me down.

  Many people walk by: old, young, male, female, mother, father, sister, brother or friend. Each have places to go, places to see. Luckily nobody has a chance to see me.

  My flight is called and I slowly stand up, walking ever so slowly, clutching my bag ever so tightly. I walk along the ever closing hall, the walls caving in, nowhere to go, nowhere to breathe.

  I sit and try to relax. I've flown before, just never alone. My nails scratch anxiously against my skin, rubbing it raw and making it sting. I take deep breaths, trying to think logistically. We'll be fine. The flight will go as planned.

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  Voices spin and the engines whir as I think of countless endings to my life. I could crash. I could drown. I could suffocate. An engine could catch fire. I may want to die, but I don't want to take a plane down with me.

  My hands are red and wet as I try to count my breaths. If my feet stay off the floor, it feels like they're dangling, dangling above the sky until I slip from my seat and plummet screaming in terror to the ground. I place my feet on the floor of the plane. I won't fall. I won't die. I'll be fine.

  Bile rises to my throat as we soar upwards, the plane rattling, threatening to fall apart, malfunction, start spiraling down to the ground until we explode in a wave of flames.

  But I'm fine. The plane steadies and my nails start to slow. We didn't crash, we didn't burn and we didn't die. It was a normal flight and we were fine. It was just anxiety. Anxiety won't make me die. I may be scared and unsure of what to think, but I'm fine.

  I need to let anxiety go and learn to fly.