(Black screen and TICK SFXs)
“A bomb is hidden in every room. In the leaking faucet, maybe, or the phone with unanswered texts, or the piles of unwashed laundry. You can’t tell where it’s hiding, but you know it’s there; the ticking is evidence.
(Stressed under dramatic spotlight)
“Maybe the reason why you can’t find it is because it isn’t in the room at all; it’s in your head. Freaking out yet? Welcome to life with generalized anxiety disorder—my life. And it’s filled with these hidden bombs ticking the same repetitive question…
FADE TO BLACK. Then…
(Title card)
“…What if things got worse? And at no point were these ticks louder than in my journey to my writing career
(Pictures of my old books, my toys, and a drawing from my comic)
“Long before those bombs appeared, I discovered my love of telling stories. I wrote books on paper and read them to my family, played with my toys like they were in TV show episodes, and, when I was a bit older, I wrote and posted a comic series online! It got quite a following, too…
(VIDEO: Slashing through the comic)
“…but I won’t share it over my dead body. Not because of anxiety, for once, but because it’s genuinely terrible.
(Slideshow of art from my terrible books)
“But I didn’t care that my future self thought it was terrible; I loved it. It excited me to let my imagination run free and entertain others along the way.
(SFX: ticking! Inside of a box, or some other constricting picture)
“But then things got worse. I got too old to play with toys, teachers heavily criticized my writing ability, and I almost repeated fifth grade because of it.
(VIDEO: writing and erasing ideas as TICKS ensue.)
“It felt like every time I picked up a pencil, the ticking overshadowed the creativity that once came so easily to me. Until one day…
(SAME VIDEO: Crumple up paper)
“…I listened. And I listened for a very long time.
(Head in hands, other sad pictures)
“For years, I was missing that part of myself because the bombs told me I wasn’t good enough to find it. It ticked louder everywhere I went until it was the only thing I could hear. Sometimes, the only silence I could only find was in small moments, like watching cartoons.
(Clouds and other free, relaxing imagery)
“But then it hit me: Someone has to write these shows, maybe I could. Me? Being funny? That alone could make me laugh. But I sucked up my doubts and tried it anyways. …And I soared. I ran free again, and I wrote some really funny stuff.
(VIDEO: Writing out ideas)
“That one script reminded me that I am not limited to what my anxiety makes me be. I can be funny! I can write something that I’m proud of!
(Humorous sketches of worst case scenarios on the photos at the beginning.)
“…And, best of all, I can twist something as awful as anxiety into something positive! As it turns out, constantly predicting the worst makes some pretty creative writing material!
(Me as an anxious superhero lol)
“Writing helped me realize that I control my anxiety and how it affects me, not the other way around. And, since that day, I have chosen to make it my unique writing super power!
(Me ponderin’)
“So every time I wonder what next disaster my characters could get into…
(Me hearing TICKING and getting an idea!)
“…my hidden bombs remind me that I have plenty of ideas.
(Me typing some evil content)
“Those poor characters.”
