Everyone has some anxiety. And it’s not all a bad thing. Like feeling jittery before a performance or a job interview. Getting shaky talking to a crowd, or butterflies before a first kiss. That’s normal. That’s healthy. That’s your body understanding that you’re doing something important.

When the acidic taste of panic rises in my throat for no good reason, I do my best. I know it won’t last forever. I allow myself to feel it, recognize it for what it is, understand that it isn’t the helpful kind of anxiety, and do my best to push through it. Just my best. Not perfection. It helps. I tell my brain the truth. There are no tigers hiding here. I’m not going to die. My body is overreacting to something that’s not even real.

The difference is, I’m choosing not to dwell. I’m choosing not to let it take hold of me and limit my life. It’s okay to feel it and then move on. I still get nervous and anxious, but it’s not as much, and I’m getting better at fighting my way through it.

My days settle into something normal. As normal as it can be when you’ve been living the same day over and over (and over) again.

I still spend time with Hugo. Sometimes I hang out with Presley. And sometimes I go to Alex’s show to support him. We still have the best conversations. Sometimes he asks me out and I get his kisses, sometimes I don’t, and that’s okay.

Sometimes when Eloise shows up, I bring her with me to drinks with the queens and she loves them as much as I do.

And most importantly, I stop overthinking and focus on what I can actually do to help Hugo.

I can’t get him to not cry, and that’s not on me. Maybe stopping the crying completely shouldn’t have been the goal in the first place.

Instead, when the crying starts, I stop thinking of Hugo as a problem to be solved, get out of bed, and go over and knock.

The door swings open. He’s in the red dress, no wig, black lines of watery mascara trailing down his cheeks. My heart aches for him.

“Can I offer you solutions or comfort? Or do you want me to leave you alone?”

He blinks and then considers for a moment before responding. “Will you sit with me?”

“Of course.”

I follow him to the couch, his large frame dwarfing the love seat. I drop down next to him and wait.