Writing

Morgan shrugs. "Might be." She uses the opportunity to throw a hit towards his side.

Lyra puts her hands up in a defensive maneuver, preparing.

Simon takes it, hardening his body with the impact. "That's cheap."

Ethan — within a blink of an eye — makes his move in with a precise punch right towards her shoulder, his aura only rising in his hand right before expected contact, then gone just as fast.

Morgan gives a smug smile, shrugging before her concentration returns and the smile fades. Lyra tanks the shot, slipping under his arm directly after to be behind him, attempting to hit his lower back.

Simon kinda glares as he reinforces the aura in his leg, going to sweep her. Ethan's eyes follow her the whole time as he leans to the side so her punch misses — a grin as he turns to face her again.

The full lore entry goes here — world-building document, faction history, myth, or in-universe artifact.

The detail that makes this world feel real and lived-in.

Your full solo fiction excerpt goes here.

"Dialogue that sounds like a real person said it," she said, and meant every word.

The full excerpt. A good place to show emotional range — nuanced interpersonal dynamics, slower pacing.

A beat of quiet. The kind that says more than words would.

"Spaghetti"
No, please. Stop, my dude.
Please don't touch-a my spa-ghet.
Leave my spa-ghet 'lone.

"Pepe"
Poor pepe the frog.
He is so small and squishy.
He just needs some love.

"Pizza Rolls"
Pizza rolls are good.
They are very warm. Cheesy.
Pizza rolls are yes.

"Friendship"
Good people to hug,
Lots of love and affection.
Kissing in the rain.

"The Three Scotsman"
Light hearted cuties.
Sweet, calm, and talented boys.
In music and art.

I'm on the outside, looking in.
An outcast; a wallflower.
Unseen by the average eye,
While my third one remains open.

Like the spy undercover,
Never to be found out.
It isn't that difficult.
I'm just a regular girl,
Just a dimmer star in the sky.

But worry not,
I'll show everyone what I am capable of.
Until then,
I shall remain a wallflower.
Not seen,
Nor heard.

I am the early May/late April
Sprinkling rain everywhere, as I dance about
Spreading warmth wherever I go.

But he is the bitter, cold winter
His frosty aura freezes my warm heart
And suddenly, I am cold, again.

And now
I'm
frozen
and
alone.

Whenever I play
That certain song
Or I hear it on a radio
I smile and close my eyes,
And I see a younger version of myself,
Sitting with my dad
The silence lingering as we wait
The record a second from starting

And as the melody seeps its' way into my lungs,
It clicks.

"Toto" by: Africa, I whisper
He nods his head,
His eyes closed,
His consciousness taken with the music.

And I allow it to capture me, too.

A drizzle of darkness,
And a sprinkle of despair,
She sneaks down
To the depths of her lair.

You see,
I am death,
And my job is quite labored;
However, it's my duty,
No one said it was favored.

I killed the girl I used to be
So fun and full of joy,
I killed the girl I used to be
Who never used to cry,
But now my work is done you see, I no longer have to try,
For this poor girl is done for,
She no longer has to lie.

I don't talk,
I stay quiet,
Keep my mouth shut,
Never ever talk.

If I were to speak,
I would spill everything.
Every painful day at school,
Every friend lost,
And every tear shed.

I don't have time for that.
No one cares about my problems.
They're mine,
And only mine.
To keep locked away,
Safe,
In my mind...

But not my words.

Wren wandered the narrow hallways aimlessly, attempting to make her way to the kitchen for a midnight snack. She had been staring at the stars for hours on end and had missed dinner with the others...not that she had planned on attending. It isn't as if they had cared if she had been there, anyway...She had always been invisible.

And things weren't changing something like that, overnight. As she strolled into the kitchen, Wren heard an "oop-." Her body froze as her mind raced. 'Shit...did she just walk in on a murder? The one time she needed a fucking snack-.' Wren cautiously crouched behind the kitchen island, anxious as to what she might find if she were to glance around it. Or whom she might discover…

Just as she presumed herself to be home free, she slipped on an empty fruit snack wrapper amidst the darkened room. This sent Wren tumbling to the floor, alerting whomever was with her of her presence. Wren whimpered quietly, curling into a ball on the floor as she cradled her knee, having hit it fairly hard against the linoleum.

As Wren made an attempt to gradually collect herself, in a gentle and slightly appealing hispanic tone, the other spoke to her.

"Who's there…?"

They spoke cautiously, anxiety present in their voice. Wren blushed slightly, glad to have the darkness of the room as a veil to hide her classmate from noticing. When she had mustered up enough courage to speak, she responded in an airy, meek tone.

"W-wren...I-I'm um the, um, Ultimate Astronomer. Please don't kill me; I just wanted a snack."

She anticipated their response, anxiety bubbling in her stomach. Wren's gut wrenched as her classmate made their way around the island, towering over her as she still lay sprawled out on the polished floor. They walked a bit closer, kneeling down beside her.

"Hey, are you alright? Did you hurt yourself when you fell? No bones fractured, I hope. Nothing sprained?"

The seemingly amiable brunette met Wren's dandelion eyes with their own chocolate irises, a faint blush present upon their otherwise pale cheeks.

I. Arrival — Ryota & Wren

The sun shone down on Ryota as he strode towards the gates of Hope's Peak University. They towered over the young man, taunting him with every step he took. His morning had been uneventful, the only thing of note being when his mother had wept on his brand new, deep blue hoodie as he had attempted to leave that morning.

Hello, I'm Ryota Katashi. Friends call me Ryo, but we aren't friends, so don't go getting any ideas. He sighed, frustratedly whipping his head in the direction of the sudden interruption. A petite girl with long powder blue hair continued striding into the gates past Ryota, and he called out to her, bitterly.

"Excuse you, that was quite rude of you to simply continue walking after you had clearly bumped into me."

The girl turned her head to meet Ryota's icy glare and she quirked a brow, dandelion yellow irises pointedly looking directly at him. "Not my fault that you were in the way," the female shrugged, speaking monotonously.

"Be more careful, next time."

II. The Villain — Ambrose

Ambrose was panic-stricken. How could he have allowed such an insolent, secretive female to see him? He had been so fucking careful thusfar, and now? Now, everything was ruined. He was going to die. But he refused to go down without a fight.

Ambrose isolated himself within the four walls of his room. He paced the room, anxiously running his hands through his hair as he considered all of the options he had. It was as if a lightbulb had come on in his head as he raced to the files he had on his classmates, thumbing through until he found Wren's. Fears — now that was more like it. Ambrose's lips curled upwards into a malicious smirk as he read. Water. Of course.

III. Before & After — Wren & Eden

Eden's hand gently tugged Wren's into their own, cradling it to their chest as they gazed into her dandelion eyes intently. "Listen to me," tears rolled down their cheeks as they spoke, voice threatening to give out. "We are going to make it through this, but I need you to trust me. I need you to believe in me."

Their voice broke as they collapsed into Wren's arms, sobbing. Wren gently stroked their hair, tears rolling down her own cheeks. "I believe in you, Eden. And I trust you..more than anyone else. I-..I promise."

Eden swiftly brought their lips to Wren's, capturing the young woman in a passionate, yet tender kiss. The world felt as if it had been put on pause, neither of the two breaking for a long moment as they basked in their moment of intimacy.

— — —

Wren was frozen in place, dandelion eyes unwavering as they took in the scene before her. Blood. So much blood that her stomach was doing somersaults. All she wanted to do was tear her eyes away from the scene before her, but she couldn't. Just blood...on the very person she had wanted so desperately to save. Wren's legs gave out below her, and she dropped to her knees, dragging herself over to Eden's lifeless body and drawing their eyes closed carefully with her fingertips. She gently pressed a kiss to their forehead, a tear dribbling down her cheek and landing on Eden's.

"I'm so sorry-..." her voice broke, eyes overflowing with tears as she sobbed uncontrollably. "I'm so sorry I couldn't save you!"

"Have to, what?" Takuma interjected, caging her within his arms. "Wren, they're gone..."

Tears flooded her eyes once more, and her head dropped, bangs covering her eyes as she cried silently. Whoever was responsible...was going to pay for what they had done. Eden had been the first person that Wren had ever connected with on such a deep level, and in the blink of an eye...they were gone. She felt empty. Dead. And full of despair.

The wind whipped through long, dark brunette locks as a young woman stood before two large, glass double doors. The reflection causing the young woman to cover her eyes in order to save her sight. A soft yellow cardigan adorned her shoulders, barely covering a bright white tank top that scrunched atop the black skirt that sat on her waistline, coming down to brush an inch or so above her knees. Rounded black flats clicked against polished marble floors as her mentor came into view, deep frown lines etched into her expression, the softness she had once held for her pupil, gone.

After what felt like hours, the glass doors began peeling back, revealing the council before them. One representative from each section: Water, Air, Earth, and Fire. And as she laid her eyes on each of them, the young woman's hands shook, gaze finally landing on the Governor. A Crystal who rarely showed his face to the public, unless in the name of justice. A sliver of hope gleamed in the young woman's eyes as herself and her mentor bowed out of respect, walking into the council room for her trial.

A quiet breath of relief broke from her lips. Her heart pounded in her chest so loud, she worried the council could hear it in the deafening silence of the room, but still she hoped. A kind smile slowly spread across her lips as she bowed her head to each of them, grasping at the golden heart locket that had adorned her neck for as long as she could remember. She clasped it between her clammy fingers, trembling, before she took a deep breath and gave them a nod. She was ready to hear what they had decided.

Her smile faded as each Council member gazed upon her in disdain. Everyone, except the Governor, who had the slightest upturn in the corner of his lips. Surely, she wasn't to blame… But to her horror, the ruling was read, her gaze turning to her mentor, but she had cast her gaze to the Council instead. The young woman froze, feeling as if the ground beneath her had disappeared, legs giving out as she fell to her knees harshly. Two Earth Commanders came up beside her, taking her arms and pushing her to the ground roughly. Her cheek pressed against the cold, hard marble for a moment before a stinging pain shot through her spine and everything went dark.

The rooftop door clicked shut behind Maeve, muffled by the thrum of the city below. She needed air. She needed silence. She needed a moment where her heart wasn't trying to crawl up her throat every time she replayed what happened during results night — Zeke stepping forward, voice raised for her, defending her like she was someone worth fighting for. No one had ever done that for her. Maeve gripped the railing and tried to breathe.

Footsteps. She froze.

Zeke stepped onto the roof, hoodie half-zipped, hair damp from a quick shower. His eyes found her instantly — as if he'd been looking before he even opened the door. "I thought you might be up here," he said, quiet enough that the wind almost took the words away.

Maeve swallowed. "Don't you ever knock?"
"It's a roof, Maeve."
"Still."

His mouth twitched. Not quite a smile. Something softer. He walked toward her, slow, careful. Zeke wasn't usually careful. He was loud, confidence and sharp rhythm and cracked jokes that hid the parts of him he didn't want people to see. But with her…he always moved like she was something he didn't want to accidentally break. He stopped beside her, leaving just a breath of space between them. Not touching. But close enough that she felt the heat of him through the night air.

"You…defended me."
"Yeah. And?"
"And — people don't usually do that."

He exhaled slowly. His fingers brushed the railing near hers — not touching, but deliberately close. "Well," he said, "I'm not most people."

Her chest tightened. "I know."

A quiet wind swept across the rooftop, lifting the edges of her hair. Zeke watched it like it was mesmerizing, like she was mesmerizing, and Maeve had to look away because she wasn't used to being seen so clearly. He leaned a little closer. "Are you mad at me?" "No," she whispered. "Good. Because if I pissed you off, that'd suck." "Why?" "Because…" He hesitated. Zeke never hesitated. "…because you matter to me."

His hand lifted, hovering beside her cheek. Not touching. Asking. "Tell me to stop," he murmured. Maeve didn't. Couldn't. Her heart was pounding too loudly for anything but honesty. His fingertips brushed her jaw — feather-light, like he was afraid he imagined her.

He pulled back by a fraction. Barely. She looked up at him, startled. He looked wrecked, conflicted, desperate for something he wasn't sure he should take. "I want to kiss you so bad it's stupid," he admitted, hand still cupping her jaw. "But I don't want it to be because we're tired or emotional or overwhelmed. I want it to be real. I want you to be sure."

"I am," she whispered. He shook his head gently. "You think you are, because everything feels loud right now. But I want…" He brushed a thumb across her cheek. "I want the first time I kiss you to be something you remember for the rest of your life."

Maeve's breath trembled. "Zeke," she said, voice barely there, "if you don't kiss me soon, I'm going to combust." He laughed — soft, helpless. "Yeah. Same."

He rested his forehead against hers, closing his eyes. Not a kiss. Not yet. But everything before it. Just the promise. Just the almost. The kind of almost that felt like gravity had chosen them. And Maeve, heart racing, realized something she wasn't ready to say out loud: this wasn't going away. This wasn't temporary. This wasn't just a crush. This was the moment before a first kiss that would change everything.

To your eyes,
Their pigmentation soft and steady,
Much like that of a rock surrounded by rushing water.
But containing a fire that could easily be set ablaze under the right circumstance.
Yet, unwavering in the face of uncertainty.

To your lips,
Concocting alluring phrases,
Strung together much like a melodious symphony,
Entrancing all who fall prey to the honey-coated verbiage,
And rendering them completely incapacitated.

To your hands,
Lithe fingers that slip between my own, perfectly.
Meshing together like puzzle pieces long having sought one another,
Applying pressure and allowing me to know you're there,
Whether in times of trepidation or delight.

To you,
From the genes you received,
That formed the person you began as,
To the hardships and laughter,
That has shaped you into the person you are, today.
I love you. . .

And finally, to us,
A partnership,
Made up of two perfectly imperfect individuals,
With destinies intertwined and aspirations that could take us anywhere.
That will take us to amazing places.
But will take us, together.

Introduction

This paper's content will do well to touch on three topics that are all centered around racial and societal injustices that occur, especially within our current twenty-first-century society. The three topics chosen are the generalizations made about individual races or ethnic people, the 'Black Lives Matter' movement, and movements such as 'ACAB' and how they paint people — such as cops — in a bad light.

Seeking Asylum or Plotting Terrorism?

The generalizations made about individual races and people of differing ethnicities and/or religions have always been a very slippery slope within the Americas. Especially after the events of 2001, there have been copious amounts of racial bias and prejudice against, specifically, the Arab ethnic group. Many have labeled the entire group as terrorists, completely shutting out any nuance — no matter your skin color. It is almost as if individuals have forgotten about the wars raging on in the Middle East, resulting in Arabs having to flee their homes and seek safety anywhere that will take them.

As Dominic Johnson notes, the 'negativity bias' has emerged as a fundamental principle of the human mind — people's response to positive and negative information is asymmetric. Negative factors have more significant effects than positive aspects across a wide range of psychological phenomena. Bad is more substantial than good, and this asymmetry has deep implications for how international actors perceive threat and conflict (Johnson & Tierney, 2018).

'Black Lives Matter' & 'All Cops Are Bastards'

'Black Lives Matter' was created from a hashtag used on Twitter back in 2013 following George Zimmerman being charged with murdering an unarmed African American teenager. While these movements began with hopes of peace in mind, they have at times turned to violence, vandalism, and rioting — complicating the message and creating internal contradictions. The vandalism of a mural honoring Sgt. Robert Wilson III — an African American officer killed in 2015 while thwarting a robbery as he shopped for a gift for his son — was widely condemned as a failure of the movement's own principles.

Research by psychologist Joshua Correll, Ph.D., found that officers showed evidence of bias in reaction times, more quickly reacting to armed Black targets and unarmed white targets. However, those biases in reaction time did not always translate to the ultimate decision to shoot. Correll found that special unit officers who regularly interact with minority gang members were more likely to exhibit racial bias in their decision to shoot — suggesting that when training and experiences confirm racial stereotypes, those biases hold more sway over behavior (Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 2007; Personality and Social Psychology Bulletin, 2013).

Implicit bias — beliefs and attitudes formed without conscious awareness — differs from explicit bias, which is consciously held and acted upon. Unconscious racial stereotypes are a prominent example: having an automatic preference for one race over another without being aware of the bias. Crossing the street at night when encountering a Black man, without knowing why, is a microaggression that communicates implicit prejudice even in the absence of conscious intent (Ruhl, 2020).

Conclusion

If there is a path forward, it begins with mandatory workshops that train individuals to notice when their implicit bias takes over unconsciously. It continues with the recognition that all cops are not bastards — but many are bastardized by a heavily corrupt system. And it ends with the acknowledgment that advocating for your race or ethnicity is never the problem; the problem lies in the failure to recognize that actions taken in protest affect people beyond oneself.

I. Dandelion's Death ⚠ knives & blood

Josirus came at Cato, arms swinging violently as he was blinded by pure, unadulterated rage — in all honesty, it wasn't anything Cato had done. The son of Anubis was too far gone. Anubis had taken over, rendering Josirus completely immobilized and at the mercy of his father's hands. The God's voice boomed, causing Cato to drop to his knees, hands pressed hard against his ears.

Anubis tugged a knife from Josirus' belt, a sickly sadistic smirk plastering itself upon his lips as he began walking towards Cato — picking up speed as he took notice of Dandelion's expression of pure horror. The young daughter of Persephone shook her head, voice giving out as she shrieked. "NO!" She threw herself in front of Cato, knife piercing her abdomen.

Cato cradled Dandelion in his arms, tears streaming down his cheeks, hands staining red as he attempted to put pressure upon her wound. "Dalion! No — no, fuck...Gods, no...Please! You have to hang on!"

Dandelion pressed a bloodstained hand to the boy's scarred cheek, tears filling her tear ducts and spilling over as she smiled weakly up at him for her last time. She feebly tugged his sleeve, the boy leaning down closer as she pressed a featherlight kiss to his lips. And the last thing she uttered, before the light faded from her eyes: "I love you.."

II. Cato's Death ⚠ knives & blood

The scene began the same — Josirus blinded by rage, Dandelion frozen in horror — until Anubis turned the knife toward Cato. Dandelion dropped to her knees, sobbing violently. "PLEASE DON'T!" Her voice cracked as she watched the dull metal pierce Cato's chest.

Dandelion crawled to Cato, placing a hand upon his cheek as she gently pressed an ear to his chest, listening as his heartbeat became weaker with each moment. She did her best to muster a smile for him, drawing his eyelids closed and pressing a small kiss to his forehead before his life force completely faded. Josirus had completed what he had yearned for, for so long...and Dandelion's worst fear had, yet again, come true.

III. Ilya's Death ⚠ gaslighting, manipulation & knives

Ilya scaled the rose trellis she had so many times before, up to the window she knew was always unlocked. In his arms she had always felt the safest, never judged or turned away. He had saved her — in more ways than one. But why, then, had he lied? As she pushed open the door to Noah's room, there he was — packing a go-bag.

"You lied..Noah, why...I thought we were in this together. You always said it was you and me. You said it would be us, til' the end." The male turned, a small manipulative smirk settling upon his lips. He walked towards her, arms enveloping her figure in a comforting hug. She felt safe… before the knife drove through her back. "It was never us. It's always been me, myself and I. Sorry, princess. Where you're going, you'll get eternal rest.."

IV. Axelle's Death ⚠ heights & drowning

Axelle had followed Eli up onto the cliff overlooking the sea, her worry increasing the more she climbed. She took a seat upon the tree branch, directly beside Eli, their feet collectively swinging back and forth as Axelle's hair waved in the wind like a flag. Her fingers intertwined with theirs, molding together perfectly. Eli's body twisted slightly, slipping down and hanging over the ledge. Axelle reached out — her hand slipping from theirs as she tumbled forward and down, down, down...two hundred feet and into the water. Though the impact had severely injured her, she struggled, gasping for air as she reached up towards the sky for Eli. At least it hadn't been them...

V. Alt Dandelion's Death ⚠ blood, knives & stabbing

Dandelion panicked as Josirus lunged towards the boy who had broken her heart so many years before. She hadn't been happy to see him, but she didn't want him dead. And after reconnecting with Josirus, she had never expected to fall for him so deeply — but she had. She lunged in front of Josirus, unsure of how else to get his attention within his enraged state of being. "Josirus, wait—!" She gasped in pain, knife piercing her side as Josirus's eyes widened in horror.

"Danny! Dandelion — fucking hell—" He began panicking, knowing he couldn't pull the knife out of her abdomen. She would bleed out. "You can't fucking die, godsdammit!" He watched as the light faded from the girl's eyes. Then he stood, strode past the roman, and spoke just loud enough for Cato to hear: "The only reason you aren't dead right now is because you aren't worth my time. But once I have her back — I will not rest until I have your head on a silver fucking platter."

"Is that a threat?" Cato sneered. Josirus's head whipped to face the roman once more. "No. Consider it a fucking warning, roman." And with that, Josirus left to find his father, dead set on bringing his flower back from the dead.

Prologue

"I learned not to trust people; I learned not to believe what they say, but watch what they do; I learned to suspect that anyone and everyone is capable of 'living a lie.'" Lynn Barber once said this — and she has no idea how accurate her statement is. From a very young age, this is all I have ever been taught: Manipulate or be manipulated. And if manipulation is the only way for me to make it in this deceitful world, then so be it. I refuse to be hurt by anyone, ever again.

Monday, February 1st, 2016

Today is like any other day in New York City. The sky is filled with giant cotton ball clouds, little rays of sunshine filtering through, like shards of a broken mirror. The wind freezes the ends of my hair, which are still slightly damp from my shower earlier this morning, the very end of my braid brushing my ankle.

I weave my way through the bustling streets of Times Square, attempting to make the long trek to my favorite coffee shop before I'm late for my daily regimen. As I wait in a tediously long line, the young woman in front of me catches my eye. She's positively radiant, wearing one of the biggest, and most sincere smiles I've ever seen, while she speaks to the cashier as if they've been friends for years. As she finishes her conversation, and slides a crisp five dollar bill into the tip jar, she steps aside, and claims a window seat.

When I step up to the chipped granite countertop, my eyes immediately dart to the cashier's bright pink lips. Barbie called. She wants her lipstick back. I chuckle, my witty subconscious comment causing me to lose my cool for a split second. I quickly compose myself, and drop three dollars and fifty-seven cents onto the counter, as the barista hands me my usual order. A large, black coffee with a blueberry muffin. I mutter a 'thank you' as I make my way to the back of the shop.

Edits: This was the first time I saw you.

Monday, February 15th, 2016

The day after Valentine's Day. I've spent my entire day in my small coffee shop, when I hear the little bell on the door ring, announcing someone has entered. She searches the room with curious eyes, until ours meet, and we seem to have a silent conversation. As she motions to the seat across from me, I give her a curt nod.

Her enticing aroma wafts its way into my nasal passages, and disables my ability to form a coherent sentence. Vanilla. And suddenly, I'm thrown back to a foreboding time.

It's a dreary day. A younger version of myself is sitting inside the small kitchen of my family's one-room apartment. My mother had just returned from her time in incarceration for drug trafficking and overdose. I hear her raspy voice as she screeches for my youngest brother, Mitch. I watch as he scrambles over to her, her pupils dilated, eyes bloodshot. The psychedelic drugs scramble her brain, and her eyes slowly roll to the back of her head as she clenches the collar of his white t-shirt in her fist, attempting to battle the grim reaper. She makes an attempt to speak, but she's dead before she can utter another word. The air smells vaguely of vanilla.

My breath is ripped away, as I'm thrown back to reality.

"Greetings, Darling. Please, let us converse. My name is Dynim. And yours?"

Edits: This was the first time that we made conversation.

Monday, August 19th, 2024

It's finally the big day, and I'm not sure that I can handle waiting. It's been eight years since we started dating late that May in 2016. I never knew that I was making the best decision of my life. This is my tribute to you, my darling. A tribute to you, for all the good that you have brought into this world. A tribute to you, for being the only person to ever try to break me from my old habits. A tribute to you, because we both know that you won't make it out of that hospital bed, again.

This is my tribute to you, as you lie in bed awake at night, and ponder about all the things that we could be...if only we had met, sooner. I promise that this is not a 'goodbye', my darling. It is simply, 'Goodbye, until next time.' I love you.

Overview

Generalized Anxiety Disorder — GAD — is a psychological disorder characterized by excessive or disproportionate anxiety about several aspects of life, including work, social relationships, and financial matters. Restlessness, fatigue, difficulty concentrating, irritability, muscle tension, uncontrollable worry, and disrupted sleep are all recognized symptoms. The diagnosis has increased steadily over the years and affects both men and women — touching everything from their school day to their time spent at home.

School Stress

Academic pressure has become a significant driver of GAD. Higher stakes, standardized testing — the SAT, the ACT, the ECA — and the cultural narrative that these tests are make-or-break create a compounding pool of stress. Frequent anxiety or panic attacks can result, often without the student understanding their cause, which compounds the harm to their mental state.

Home Life

A parent's stress level has been shown to affect a child's very makeup. When anxiety develops in childhood or adolescence, the effects ripple outward — school absenteeism, difficulty maintaining friendships, withdrawal from activities, and a general decline in quality of life. The child often detaches, retreating into their safe place. The mind, already under pressure, becomes more susceptible to depression and risky behavior. Even simple social interactions can become overwhelming enough to cause a child to stay home entirely.

Environmental Stressors

Trauma, loss, abuse, major life changes, and even sustained media exposure to distressing news all contribute to GAD. The use of and withdrawal from addictive substances — alcohol, caffeine, nicotine — can worsen symptoms further. These stressors act cumulatively, and in some cases the damage to mental stability is lasting.

Conclusion

GAD is not a permanent condition. It can be addressed through therapy, medication, and a supportive environment. Those around someone with GAD play a critical role — what can appear as "acting out" is frequently a cry for help. The disorder is serious and deserves to be treated as such.