Bumblebee

Vera is 24 years old, she has just divorced her husband, found a good job, and now shares an apartment with a neighbor who is a psychoanalyst. Around her, the tracks of suitcase wheels from hundreds of acquaintances spread out, social media offers contradictory advice on how to live within a catastrophe. While Vera subscribes and unsubscribes from news channels, the satisfied bumblebee inside her buzzes louder and louder. Vera's anxiety finally merges into a general panic. Time and again, the girl hopes she has found a way out, not noticing that she is going in circles.

We have learned: a person is not equal to their mental disorder; it does not define them. In reality, this is a deception. The disorder influences decisions, interests, and relationships with people. Especially when it is a cunning, undiagnosed anxiety disorder that cloaks everyday actions in fog and disguises itself as personality traits.

This story is about how an undetectable disorder guides a person, forces them to adapt to those around them, imposes guilt for trying to deviate from the path. And about an important property of anxiety that is rarely discussed: it wants to grow and feeds on other people's external anxiety. It gladly integrates into global cataclysms and crises—this is its author's space. And when there is nothing suitable in the external world, it makes a person create cataclysms at the level of their own life. The path of a person with an anxiety disorder is an endless oscillation from 'I finally stepped onto a new path' to 'oh, this is the same old forest.'