To help patients understand anxiety, therapists often compare it to being chased by a tiger, since anxiety was originally a defense mechanism against predators like tigers. That’s why it causes things like heightened fear, tunnel vision, and loss of bowel control. (Bodies are hilarious.)
But this begs the question: Are your symptoms simply those of generalized anxiety disorder, or is there in fact an actual tiger stalking you through the streets of Brooklyn, New York?
As you pick up your Sweetgreen salad, your heart is pounding and your vision is narrowing. Could it be from the giant cold brew that you chugged this morning, plus your five hundred and forty-seven unopened e-mails, or is it something else? You’re pretty sure you saw a flash of black and orange behind you, but every time you turn around there’s nothing there. You up your therapy sessions to twice a week.
You’re short of breath as you get on the subway. It’s crowded, but you swear you just glimpsed a tiger at the far end of the car, crouching in wait. Are you gasping for air because your mom texted “Call me” with zero context, or is there actually a tiger on the Brooklyn-bound L train? When you glance over again, all you see is a fintech bro in an orange Patagonia vest. Almost the same thing—but, still, you’re losing it, girl.
There are posters featuring a tiger pasted on the scaffolding in front of your building. They’re for an animal-rights organization—could they be in on it somehow? You shake your head and scroll TikTok to distract yourself from your own neuroses, but all the videos are about how your plastic razor is seeping PFAS into your armpits. Your throat tightens.
There are scratch marks on your apartment door and pee on your doormat. This could be the urine of either a Bengal tiger or your neighbor’s Chihuahua. You up your therapy sessions to three times a week.
You hear a low growl coming from the dumpster in the back alley. It’s probably nothing—just your landlord grumbling that you didn’t flatten your boxes again. But what if it’s something else . . . like a five-hundred-pound apex predator? Your blood pressure increases. It’s just generalized anxiety, you tell yourself. It has to be. You’re in daily therapy sessions now, and your therapist is begging you to stop calling her.
An A.S.P.C.A. volunteer flags you down on your corner. You feel nauseated, and your legs weaken. Thankfully, you know that these anxious symptoms are simply caused by the fear of getting roped into donating on a monthly basis, mixed with the guilt of having to tell the volunteer no, because you are poor.
The A.S.P.C.A. person is friendly and chats with you for a minute, but finally you tell them that you can’t donate because you are, in fact, broke right now. The volunteer stops speaking, and a slow, maniacal smile spreads across his face.
“That’s fine, just fine,” he says, smiling even wider. “The A.S.P.C.A. has ways of making you donate.”
He bring two fingers to his mouth and lets out a loud whistle, and, before you can move or text your therapist, a Bengal tiger lunges out from behind him and pins you down.
The tiger unleashes a fierce roar and digs its claws into you as the A.S.P.C.A. volunteer laughs and laughs. No one stops to help as you’re clawed to shreds, because this is New York, and New Yorkers gotta get where they’re going and honestly you can’t blame them.
As your life slowly drains away, you smile at the realization that your anxiety is completely gone. It was just a tiger all along. Ha! Take that, therapy! ♦
