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Games are not fun, especially when the dice are in your opponent’s hands. He controls my life like a joker, the unnecessary card that’s always put to the side, yet still part of the deck. He knows my goals, which makes it easier for him to dangle them in front of me, knowing I wouldn’t be able to reach them. He knows my fears, which makes it easier for him to push them towards me, aware that I would be too scared to face them. He forces silence upon me, conscious that I am too afraid to speak up. He knows my face, address, and social security number, so it is impossible to hide and impossible to stay true to who I am. He is a disorder that always stays alive when tried to be forgotten and pushed aside. He is anxiety.

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