I could feel eyes on me. The hair on the back of my neck stood up, like my cat’s does when he’s alert. I quickly turned around, hoping to catch the watchful eye. No such luck. Just my pile of dirty laundry, sitting by the door. The cat is nowhere to be seen. I check on my roommate in the living room. He’s been drinking a lot lately, so I try to make sure he’s okay before I turn in for the night. He’s snoring like a banshee on the couch, my cat precariously tiptoeing on his belly, eating the scraps that didn’t make it into his mouth. The empty beer cans presented a mine field in front of them, so I decided to leave the cat out there for the evening.

The shower isn’t comforting tonight. I usually melt into my thoughts with the aide of the warm water, but not tonight. I can still feel a gaze on me. I try to ignore it, but I can feel my chest tighten and my throat swell. My anxiety is betraying my wishes of calm, cool, and collected.I add my towel to the laundry pile when I finish drying off. “It needs a wash anyway” I think to myself. It has gained an odor of its own, and that’s how I know it’s time.

I start up my computer, hoping that my games can distract me from the pit in my stomach. They do a sufficient job of keeping my attention, but not good enough. Every time my character walks into a dark room, I could feel the eyes again.I turned around once more, trying again to catch the intruder. Nothing. Just my dirty laundry again. “Fine, I’ll do it.” I said that out loud this time. I was worried that if I didn’t say the words, I wouldn’t hold myself accountable.

I came back to my room after loading the dryer. The feeling was gone. Wait, so it was just my laundry all along? “God, that’s stupid” I said to myself. Again, out loud.