I hate emotional triggers that are evoked instantaneously. I hate the way this activity induces unwelcomely symptoms, which later or immediately manifest physically. My professor returned an assignment today and despite the awareness of all the flaws it carried as well as the weak spots I could have worked upon, I expected things to go better. Writing is cathartic, but it can still inflict an anxiety that speaks violently inside my head throughout the day. I fear that poor writing may not be the culprit; my struggles with life on a daily basis keeps me on my toes and stifles my brain power in unexpected ways, at moments most monumental.
The silver lining to this anxious existence is the resolve to transcend it, silently but surely. The taste it leaves in my gut also residues an ache that serves as a constant reminder: I must struggle! I must overcome the adversity of life in all things, large or small. If I am successful today in mounting a challenge to my little worries, I am assured of myself to one day appear in the court of my largest adversaries and give them a run for their money.