For the entire month of June, I have been experiencing extreme anxiety, a feeling I have not felt in so long. I was taken back to the age of 21 when I was diagnosed with severe panic disorder. Sitting in the middle of my bed in the complete dark rocking back and forth trying so very hard not to explode, all by myself, with a pan of brownies. Everything was crashing around me, I had just failed my chemistry class because I was too sick to make it to class. Reality was setting in and I lost it. I lost control. Where did it go? I just had a handle on it, and now it’s nowhere to be found. I can’t breathe, where did the air go? How do I make this better? The shower? Yes, run to the shower! I still can’t breathe, I’m hyperventilating. Why am I swallowing water? I was just sitting up, everything is going black. Daniel is here, I can hear him… Just like when I was 21 I was on the verge of exploding, why? Because the rescue was so close to getting a new facility, a better facility for the kitties and volunteers. I get a text, “Did we get the building?” anxiety starts creeping up on me. I haven’t heard from the realtor, what do I say? Do I reassure my board members when I’m having a hard time reassuring myself? Another text comes in, “Have you heard anything for the building?” How do I tell my board members that I’m not confident because we haven’t heard back yet? We came to the conclusion we were not getting the building, I was ready to move on and start making new plans for our current facility. Just when I thought I could tuck anxiety back into my pocket we get a call saying we are still eligible for the property. I should be happy, but now I’m vulnerable again. One of my board members asks what is wrong “I’m scared, what if we don’t get it… again. Can my heart handle that? Can I handle getting my hopes up all over again?” her response was, “the worst they can tell us in no.” She was right, so I submitted more information the next day and waited yet again. Two more days go by, still nothing. I’m starting to have trouble breathing, my asthma is acting up. My mental state is deteriorating further. Another text, “Anything on the building?” I’ve had enough, everyone means well, but I can’t hold on. I’m losing my grip. I’ve kept such good hold on my anxiety, why now? I break down, I cry, I can’t breathe. There’s not enough air in the room. I need more air! It’s different this time, Clara is here, our office therapy cat, she talks me down, I regain control. I wait another day. I finally get the phone call. We didn’t get the building, someone else made a better offer. Something we just can’t compete with, we’re just a small nonprofit. I breathe, finally I can breathe. It’s not good news, but its news. I have something to finally report. I pack my backpack. I drink my coffee. I take a deep breathe, and I head to school to take my biological psychology exam. It’s just another day in kitty paradise.