Anxiety

A perfect blue sky, with fluffy white clouds, and birds happily chirping in the trees above.
It was a perfect day for a funeral.

I was in all black, as usual, so I thought I'd stop by and comfort some of the guests, remind them of the good times they all had with the recently deceased. They cried and laughed, and I did too; they would never remember that strange girl flitting from row to row of mourners, placing smiles.

I always try to improve lives with my powers if I'm out of the house, but lately I've just been trying not to be in public. If I don't know there are lives to improve, I can't be expected to do anything about it. Nothing I can do will last long before the next tragedy, and it always makes me tired anyway.
I'd rather sit at home and read a nice book.

That day, as I was walking to the library, I saw the funeral start and hoped it would have ended by the time I was done browsing, but no.

It's enjoyable living vicariously through others, sometimes, but it's draining to see so much... and it gets lonely too.

I love seeing happy, smiling facing, and hearing laughter, but I wish I could remember my own.

I just kind of woke up one day in the hospital, with no memories, and had to start my life from scratch. The universe must have gifted me the power to see the past of others but took my past in exchange... not much of a gift if you ask me.

I can complain all I want, but I've learned to live with it, and it does help me; I can spot a liar from a mile away.

I was not prepared for how cold it was that day, so I went to the nearest coffee shop.
The comfort of escaping cold weather by entering a warm coffee shop, with it's atmospheric lighting and rich fragrances, especially knowing there are books in one's bag, is unparalleled.

The small room was made smaller by the tables, chairs, lamps and people, but it was cozy, and the line wasn't long.
I love coffee places, but the secret is this... I don't like coffee. I don't hate it, I've known people who despise it, but I just don't particularly like it. I've tried it many ways, but haven't found the right drink for me.
“What can I get for you?”
“One small hot chocolate.”
“Will that be all?”
“Yep.”
There are millions of people who don't like coffee in the world, but the comfort of knowing I'm not alone is never enough to make me feel less awkward going to a coffee shop and not ordering coffee. No one cares, no one even notices, but I always look around slightly while fumbling with my wallet to see if anyone's staring at me, silently judging me. No one ever is.
Usually the things we're most self-conscious about are the things no one else notices – like taking too long to get that last penny from the very corner pocket of one's change purse and for some reason it's not coming out even though you feel like you have a firm grasp on it.
“Here,” a voice said from behind me, and the penny now in my face.
“Thank you,” I said as I took the penny and placed it on the counter. I made a partial glance in their direction but didn't bother to really look at who provided the penny, because I was too preoccupied by my thoughts about social anxiety, especially as I was walking away because my body was still half contorted, trying to now zip the change purse and place it back in my bag, while trying to find a place to sit in the crowded room.
Part of being psychic means knowing that no one pays much attention to anything small anyone does, but part of it is knowing that if you do cause attention to yourself, twenty people's thoughts were soon completely focused on you, and that was too much to bear, especially after being drained by the funeral.
I chose a spot near the window, which is the furthest spot from the register, but immediately regretted my decision as they called my name right away.
“Sydney,” the barista called. “Sydney,” they said again, looking around, like the place was massive and they couldn't see me, even though I was staring right at them. I left my bag at my seat and made my way over to the register again.
“Thank you so much,” I told them. They either didn't hear me or they were too busy with their next drink, but I didn't mind that they didn't respond either way. I just wanted to sit and read.

I tried paying attention to my book, but I was too tired to immerse myself in it, so I decided to watch people go by the window.
Everyone, so different, yet so similar too. All had joys and hardships, just trying to get through the week, and then onto the next one.
I involuntarily looked into some of their pasts: good ones, bad ones, weird ones. Being around people can be so draining.
I decided to just go home.

“Uh, hey,” someone said. A man had approached my right side as I was standing up and I did not recognize him.
“You don't know me,” he confirmed. “I gave you the penny.”
Embarrassment flushed through my cheeks again.
“Oh, I can pay you back if you want.” I flipped my bag from being on my back to being partially in front of me, so I could unzip it.
“No,” he said quickly. “No, you don't have to, it was just a penny.”
“A penny can mean a lot to some people,” I countered, knowing too well the struggles of money, “but I suppose you wouldn't have offered if it did mean something to you. Um, thanks though.”
“No problem.” He fiddled with the zipper on his green jacket, and I was reminded of the cold waiting for me outside. “You work at the bookstore, right?”
“Uh, yeah. You go there?” Obviously he did, but I didn't really know what else to say. I could comfort people when they were down because I knew what to say, but it was hard to talk to people when I had no idea what they wanted.
“I love it there. There are so many interesting books that you don't find anywhere else.”
“That's why I like it too,” I smiled thinking of my home away from home.
“Well, anyway, have a- have a nice day!” and he walked out of the door, still fumbling with his zipper.
He wasn't very good at flirting, but he seemed nice enough.

I walked home hugging myself. It never used to be this cold so early in the Autumn, but it was kind of nice; the biting chill made me feel alive.