>Warning! Reader discretion is advised as mention of self-harm and other touchy subjects may be mentioned.<

Typing away on my laptop, I try hard to get this post done today. I'm running late on my deadline. Usually trying to get a blog post published twice a week, it's something I found more enjoyable than doing the jobs I had before.

Being either a cashier or other positions in a grocery store, it was hard work dealing with the public and never getting paid enough for the frustrations that came with it. More so with management and coworkers than from the customers themselves. Once working in the deli, my depression relapsed so badly from the stress of the drama that I had thoughts I'd never had before. At least not with a sober mind. Scary thoughts that went further than surface-level self-harm.

Needless to say, I knew I needed out. So, I started a blog called Walking every day with Christ. After two years I'm now able to finally live comfortably off of that. I managed to quit working in a grocery store altogether about eight months back. Also around the same time I started to get out of the new age. I got into that to help with the thoughts, but it only made things slowly get worse while disguising it all as ‘help’ and ‘enlightenment’.

About to sip on my coffee, I notice it’s already finished.

I'm going to need another.

Picturing how I'm wanting to finish this post, I let the words flow first and wait on a refill until I head out for the day. This week I'm writing about the struggles of overcoming anxiety, or more so, learning to deal with it with the help of scripture and prayer. Though a hard practice when you are in the middle of an anxiety attack, I have found with practice, it does help.

Saving the document to edit later today, I gather my things and head on my way. Making sure to grab a new coffee before I leave. At the counter, I notice a gentleman at a table several feet away to my left. Watching him from the corner of my eye, he keeps checking me out. Though he is attractive with his medium brown hair and slightly tan complexion, his attention makes me nervous.

Why does he keep looking at me?

‘You’re  just being paranoid.’

Paranoid or not, what is his interest in me? Is there something on my clothes? Is my skirt bunched up?

No, then what?

‘Ignore him. You’re about to be gone anyway.’

Trying not to look back, I just get my coffee and head out. Not noticing his location changing, it's only when he runs into me that I do. Coffee spills onto my combat-styled boots. Thankfully, them being water-resistant, the coffee simply runs off the surface and doesn't seep into the boots themselves.

His voice is set in a deep tenor tone when he speaks.

"I'm sorry. Are you okay?"

He stands a few inches taller than me, and I meet his hazel-colored eyes when looking up at him. Not one to find it easy to talk to strangers, it takes me a moment to respond.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine."

His eyes glance over me and he smiles.

"What if I buy you a new coffee?"

Nervous, my anxiety makes me feel uncomfortable at the moment. Used to men's attention on occasion, it's usually that of a gross way. His, though, doesn't seem to be.

The handsome stranger speaks up again.

"What do you say?"

Taking a chance on him, "Sure." I can't muscle through to say anything more at the moment.

Walking to the counter I keep a slight space between the two of us. Taking glances at him every so often as I try to figure him out.

With our coffee ordered, we wait and he begins to try to exchange information.

"My name's Matt, what's your's?"

"Madison."

Keeping my answers short, he's the one that does most of the talking.

"Well, Madison, what do you do for a living? I'm going to guess a writer or blogger by how often I see you here."

His statement confirms my assumption that he ran into me purposely.

If he has seen me here enough times to say that I come here often then it's less likely a coincidence and more than likely that it was a purposeful move to spill my coffee.

Not necessarily mad, but I am baffled about why he didn't try a different approach to introduce himself to me. Surely there are better ways.

Lightening up with the more words we exchange, my response comes easier.

"Well, you guessed right. I'm a blogger."

Handing him back his question, my curiosity about him grows.

"What do you do?"

Matt hesitant with his response, "I'm a photographer." something about it doesn't seem genuine.

Our order is called, and I notice something of disappointment come onto his face. Or is that frustration?

 "Well, I guess, I'll see you later?"

About to pick up my coffee to leave, he grabs it before I can.

"Wait! Here's my number. You should text me sometime."

He hands me my cup, and I scan over his handwriting before smiling up at him. Noticing freckles on his face that I didn't pay attention to before. They're cute and make him seem younger in a way.

Responding one last time, "I'll do that." I head to the door.