Creative Writing: Anxiety

Tick… Tock… Tick… Tock…

Stress. Anxiety. Panic.

I looked down, my hands were shaking. The pen I had borrowed a mere hour previously firmly grasped within my right, trembling as it scratched its way along the page. Heart pounding, mind racing, searching frantically for any final piece of information before the clock ran down and-

Time up.

That was it. The last of my National Fives. Over. Walking out of the hall I could feel tears burning behind my eyes, tears of utter relief, yet of panic simultaneously. Each of my papers was completed, but it wasn’t over yet. The year in the lead up to exam season was stressful, no doubt about it. Sitting in the hall, scribbling down everything you know in the hope that a stranger with a marking scheme would go easy on you for your lack of

Eleven weeks, seventy-seven days, each one of them with the thought of failure entrapped within.

I don’t know what I was worried about.

I had answered every question, hadn’t I? Or did I stress so much about scribbling down what I did know, I left half the paper blank? What if I forgot a page of questions entirely, and they were all for high marks?

The doubts had set in easily. Too easily, in fact, though they were never as bad as when they should have been forgotten. Most of my friends had managed it, why couldn’t I? I seemed to be the only one within my group of friends who was unable to let the thought of the papers go. They were all out enjoying themselves, meeting up every day for various things and while I was invited to a few, I never could fully let go. I wanted to, believe me, I did. Though the stress, the anxiety, the anticipation seemed to eat away at me. Grasping onto me for dear life, feeding on my every thought of the paper it constantly reminded me of. This… being, this Thing only I could feel the weight of, gripping onto my back, its breath uncomfortably directed onto my neck, ensuring I was always aware of its existence.

Tick…