Anxiety Memes Novels & Stories

Lia screamed, her voice cracking. The horror in her eyes wasn't just from the danger, but from witnessing such an atrocity against food. This is my Indomie! You're not getting it! Bima shouted, scrambling back, pulling Lia with him. Lia, he's insane! He's obsessed with making the most extreme content! [System Suggestion: Use your 'Meme Creator Skill'! Create a meme that belittles the BOSS Zombie's content! This can disrupt his focus!] Meme Creator? Bima thought fast.

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“And instead, I got a boy who called me boring and a best friend who called me dramatic while she had his dick in her mouth.” I choked. “God. Why do I talk like this.” I started laughing again, but it was the manic kind, like the cry was too deep and too sharp so it turned into a giggle halfway through. “I’m a mess. I’m a full disaster. I’m going to end up in someone’s group chat as a meme. ‘Girl loses it after pulling ex’s pants down.’ I bet someone’s editing it right now with an Afrobeat track in the background. I bet Marcus is still inside trying to fix his underwear.”

“You’re probably lying about the attack.” “Go home.” I scrolled faster. Big mistake. The avalanche waited for me. Memes. Videos. Side-by-side comparison photos of me versus my brothers. Articles analyzing my expression during the gala like I was some puzzle box. Whole threads debating the size of my potential wolf form. One comment said I’d probably shift into a small, anxious-looking husky. I actually choked on my coffee. “I hate people,” I said to no one. The laptop buzzed again. And again. And again.

He's remembering her laugh. "Can I see?" The question leapt out, sharp and brittle as breaking glass. He looked up, surprised, then shrugged. "Sure?" He held out the phone. My fingers were cold as I took it. The screen was bright in the dim room. It was, as promised, a dumb meme- a photoshopped picture of a famous building with a ridiculous caption about architects. The group chat was labeled "The Drafting Table." The last three senders were Ben, another old friend, Ben again. The shame was immediate, corrosive, flooding my veins with heat. I had barged into an innocent moment and exposed the festering sickness of my own mind. I thrust the phone back at him as if it had burned me.

Translation: No one wanted to buy a book of lies when the truth was streaming in 4K. "She's finished," Noah said, pouring a glass for Marcus, who had just arrived with a stack of pizzas. "The court of public opinion has adjourned. She’s a pariah." "She's a punchline," Sienna added, scrolling through T*****r on her phone. "The memes are brutal. 'Karen West' is trending." The room was warm, filled with the golden light of the setting sun and the easy, unforced camaraderie of survivors. The siege mentality that had defined their lives for so long was dissolving, replaced by the giddy exhaustion of victory.

Max’s posture mirrors mine. My anxiety and fear are coursing through me, but I can feel other emotions too, ones I’m not sure are mine. Anxiety, worry, nerves, joy, relief, resignation. It’s a fucking smorgasbord of feelings, and it’s overwhelming. It’s similar to the other day at training, and now I’m convinced not all of these feelings are my own. “What’s going on, baby? I don’t understand,” Max says gently. Zahra sighs, and the anxiety spikes.

Anxiety surged within me, and I curled up, pulling my knees to my chest, burying my face in them as my body trembled uncontrollably. The anxiety attack intensified, making it hard to breathe. My face turned red, and I gasped for air, desperate to find relief. Yet they continued laughing and making cruel jokes, shattering my self-esteem even further. Just as I was about to give in and let the attack consume me, I heard a throat clearing. Despite the chaos, it cut through the noise, and everyone looked up. "Fuck, it's Slim," someone mumbled, and Hayden leaned against the doorway, his imposing figure towering over them.

My mind races over everything I know I need to do, and every single one of them makes me want to shrink away. My body is vibrating with anxiety and my stomach is twisted in knots. The entire experience is replaying over and over again in my mind, no matter how hard I try to push it away. I can't get Zach's face out of my mind. His cruel smirk. His punishing bites. His hard slaps. His hard painful thrusts...

Someone had even turned Dexter's frosting-covered face into memes. She soon received one from Clara. In the meme, only half of Dexter's handsome face was not covered in frosting. The text beside it read, "Dead inside." For the next three or four days, everyone around Angela couldn't send her a text without adding a few of those memes. Zack was the worst of all. He sent her dozens every day—half of them were ones he had made himself in his office when he had nothing better to do. Wasn't this a little over the top?