Anxiety sucks. It cuts into you like a knife. It makes you feel trapped and isolated. It leaves you without breath and forces on you a heartbeat that races so fast it’s painful. It screams at you to think about death when you’re perfectly healthy and brings tears of anger with every moment of panic.

It sucks, but it’s also the world’s greatest motivator. For my entire life I’ve been terrified of being lost to time. So many people grow old and die, never having done anything worth remembering. During the worst moments of panic, one thought races through my mind.

I’m not ready.

I’m not ready to die, I’ll never be ready to die. But it’s worse now, I haven’t done anything. Nothing worth remembering. I haven’t done anything that will outlive me. I haven’t created any kind of legacy that will outlast those who love me. I need more.

So I write.

Every word that I put on paper is another that won’t leave the world with me. Every paragraph I’ve left behind helps relieve the panic of death that comes with anxiety. But I’m still not ready.

There’s so much I have to say. I’m working on a novel and I have to finish it. I want to inspire people. I want students of the future to read my work as part of their english lessons.

I want so much. I work hard. I write everything down. Every little thought that enters my mind finds it’s way to paper so that it won’t be forgotten. So that I won’t be forgotten. Is there more to people than their minds?
Maybe. Yes. There is the sound of their laughter, the light in their eyes when they see something they love. These things may be forgotten, but if I work hard enough my mind will remain. I think that my mind is the most important thing about me. And even smiles can be captured in ink if you can find the right words.

I want to live while I can. I want to do great things. I want to write until my mind explodes. There’s so much that I write for. I need to make it happen. I won’t wait either. The future isn’t promised. I need to make sure my dreams become reality while they still can.

Until those dreams are real, I will panic at the thought of death. I will write as much as I breathe. I will fight for my chance to be heard while it exists. I refuse to waste my life. Life is such a fleeting gift. I won’t spend it worthlessly. No one should.

Leave a record of every important though you have. Write it down. Leap beyond the realms of possibility to make yourself remembered. If you aren’t a writer, then do something that authors can write about. Leave behind a story for them to tell. Don’t waste time, you might not realize it, but it’s the most precious thing you have.
   

Make yourself an immortal and endless being. Don’t let them forget you.