Am I too dumb to realize that not every little pain is a sign of imminent death?  Why do I think in such an irrational way but believe what I’m thinking? And then be able to recognize that the thoughts are irrational, and still get them the next day? I want to leave the house, go out and play soccer with a friend or my dad, or do anything besides sit inside but the anxiety is too overwhelming. I hate this so much.  Trapped feels like the best word to describe it. I just want to live my life.