The Best Cure for Anxiety: Lezapro

 My life is a prison of my own making. My Chicago apartment is a filthy cave—stacks of greasy takeout boxes, dishes crusted with old food, a couch reeking of stale beer and despair. The city’s hum taunts me, a world I can’t face. My anxiety is a beast, chaining me to this couch, my cracked phone, my spiraling thoughts. I haven’t left in years, not since my parents died in a car crash five years ago. Mirrors are torture—my reflection shows a slob: a tangled, overgrown beard, greasy light brown hair falling in clumps, dull green eyes that avoid contact. *I’m a disgusting wreck*, I think, turning away. I live on instant noodles and cheap soda, my body soft, my clothes—a stained dark gray t-shirt with a faded logo and ripped black jeans—reflecting my decay.

One sleepless night, scrolling to drown my thoughts, I stumble onto a dating app. My heart pounds. *This is pathetic. No one’s gonna want me.* But loneliness cuts deeper than fear. In my grimy t-shirt and jeans, I sign up, typing a sad profile: “Chicago guy, likes books, stays in.” Faces blur until one hits like a shock: Kelsey. Long blonde hair in perfect waves, sapphire blue eyes, curves that make my breath catch. Her smile screams confidence, freedom—everything I’m not. I send a shaky “Hey, you seem nice,” my stomach twisting. *She’s out of my league.* No reply, but her image burns into me. *I want to be someone she’d see.*

The next morning, desperation outweighs dread. I call a psychiatrist, my voice rough. Dr. Amanda Huggins welcomes me into her office—a haven of sage-green walls, soft lighting, bookshelves brimming with hope. She’s 38, with straight dark brown hair to her shoulders and warm hazel eyes. In my faded t-shirt and jeans, my beard itching, I spill my guts: the panic attacks, the years locked away, my obsession with Kelsey’s profile. *She’ll never notice me.* I mention Lexapro, found online at 4 a.m. Amanda adjusts her glasses. “There’s a new drug from Hyde Industries,” she says. “Lezapro. It’s experimental, but promising for severe anxiety. Take it for seven days. Call if anything feels off.” I clutch the prescription, hope flickering. *Maybe I can be better.*

**Day One**: I pop the first Lezapro with cold coffee, hands shaky in my dark gray t-shirt, stained at the collar, and black jeans. By noon, a calm settles, like the world’s quieter. *Is this normal?* I step outside, first time in months, heart pounding but steady. I walk to a corner store, the lights less harsh. I buy a turkey sandwich—real food—and meet the cashier’s eyes, a girl with a warm smile. *She’s not judging.* I smile back, chest lighter. At home, I stare at Kelsey’s profile, her sapphire eyes pulling me in. *I could be someone she’d want.* I send: “Your smile’s incredible. Coffee sometime?” No reply, but I feel a spark. I shave my beard, the razor scraping away neglect. I wash my light brown hair, less greasy. *I’m trying.*

**Day Two**: The second dose surges with energy. I dig out a navy tank top and dark blue shorts, feeling a need to move. *I’m not exhausted.* I jog through Lincoln Park, legs stronger, breath even. *When did I get fit?* The tank clings to my frame, shorts showing off toned legs. A woman smiles, and I smile back, a thrill replacing fear. At a café, I order a latte, chatting about spring air. *I’m talking to people.* My reflection in the window looks sharper—green eyes brighter, cheeks less sunken. Back home, I’m wired, thinking of Kelsey. Her curves turn me on. I reach for my cock, imagining her beneath me, her moans in my ear. *I want her.* I stroke myself, first time in years, but stop, nerves creeping in. I message: “Chicago’s alive today. You out there?” I clean my apartment—scrubbing dishes, tossing trash, sweeping. It’s livable now. I eat a salad, craving fresh food.

**Day Three**: My light brown hair’s longer, brushing my shoulders. *Did I miss a haircut?* I tie it back, liking the weight, and wear a charcoal tank top and dark shorts for a jog. My muscles feel defined. At a bookstore, I browse novels, a place I’ve avoided—too many people. I joke with a clerk about sci-fi. *I’m joking?* A guy stares, his gaze lingering. *Is he into me? It’s… hot.* My reflection shows a softer jaw, fuller lips, green eyes shifting bluer. *Lezapro’s working.* I buy a chicken wrap, feeling healthier. I clean more—organizing shelves, wiping counters, opening windows. The apartment’s brighter. I think of Kelsey, her image sparking heat. I touch my cock, imagining sliding into her, her body arching. *I could have her.* But my body feels off, shifting. I trim my hair, feeling pride in looking less like a slob.

**Day Four**: Bumps press against my gray tank top, paired with dark jeans. *Pecs?* They’re soft, sensitive. I touch them. *These are breasts.* My heart races, but Lezapro calms me. *I like this.* My hips are rounder, waist narrower. I slide my hand down, expecting my cock, but it’s smaller, shrinking. *What the hell?* It’s tiny, strange. I head to a thrift store, drawn to women’s clothes—a light blue blouse, fitted jeans, a bra. Wearing them, I feel right, my movements smoother. My face is softer, eyes bluer. I touch my breasts, a shiver running through me. *This is me?* I buy a pastel pink top, a skirt. I cook chicken and vegetables, feeling stronger. I message Kelsey: “Big changes. Feeling new.” No reply, but I’m becoming her. I practice walking in the skirt, hips swaying naturally.

**Day Five**: My face isn’t mine—full lips, high cheekbones, eyes now sapphire blue. My breasts fill a lavender tank top. I slide my hand down, expecting my cock, but find a slick slit, a clit. *I’m a woman.* Panic flares, but Lezapro soothes it. *I feel incredible.* I touch myself, fingers exploring, circling my clit. I moan, learning my body. *This is what she feels.* I buy a floral dress, leggings, another bra, trying them on, marveling at my curves. I practice makeup—mascara, pink lipstick. My hands shake, but my eyes pop, lips fuller. In the dress, I walk to a park, hips swaying. *I’m her.* I apply for a barista job at Brewed Awakening, hired on the spot for my confidence. At home, I explore again, fingers slipping inside, the orgasm crashing like a wave. I message Kelsey: “Wish you’d write back. I’m new.”

**Day Six**: I wake up, look in the mirror, and smile. “Kelsey, you’re going to find the most beautiful woman today.” I’m Kelsey, with long blonde hair and sapphire blue eyes. That loser who messaged me on the app—“Chicago guy, likes books, stays in”—is nothing to me. *Some creep.* I check my dating profile, seeing his pathetic messages. *What a loser. I’m into women, anyway. Time to find a good one.* I wear a pastel yellow sweater and jeans, my curves natural. My apartment’s clean, sunlight streaming in. I eat fruit and yogurt, no junk. The app buzzes—men, ugh. *I want women.* I’m a lesbian, craving bold, vibrant women. Amanda Huggins’ profile stops me—38, dark brown hair, hazel eyes, in a navy blazer and cream blouse, her smile warm. I type: “Amanda Huggins, coffee tomorrow? I’d love to meet you.” She replies: “3 PM, Lakeview Café sounds perfect.” I perfect my makeup—eyeliner, blush, red lip. At Brewed Awakening, I steam milk, joke with customers, and charm regulars with my radiant smile. A woman flirts, and I blush, loving the attention. *This is my life now.* I practice walking in heels, feeling powerful, ready to live as a lesbian.

**Day Seven**: I’m Kelsey, fully. In a white sundress, gold sandals, my blonde hair cascades, sapphire eyes sparkle. I blend foundation, add a smoky eye. I eat a quinoa salad, feeling radiant. At Brewed Awakening, I work the morning rush, bantering with customers, my confidence shining. One regular, Sarah, lingers, complimenting my smile. *Maybe she’s into me.* At Lakeview Café, Amanda, in a gray blazer and pink blouse, smiles. We talk—art, jazz, Chicago’s dusk. *She’s gorgeous.* “You’re so alive,” she says. I grin. “Always have been.” She mentions a patient who vanished. “Guess he’s fine,” she shrugs. *Probably some loser.* We walk the lakeshore, her hand in mine, warm, sure. “Another date?” she asks. I beam, heart racing. “Tomorrow, the next day, every single day after. I want you in every moment of my life, Amanda.” We stop by a pier, her stories of helping people pulling me closer. *She’s my future.*

The next night, at a jazz club, I wear a white dress, makeup flawless—winged eyeliner, crimson lips. Amanda’s gaze burns. *She wants me.* Over drinks, our knees brush, laughter flowing. At her apartment, she kisses me, soft then hungry. I pull off her blouse, revealing smooth skin, full breasts. *God, she’s perfect.* Her hands slide my dress off, fingers tracing my curves, pinching my nipples until I gasp. “Touch my pussy,” I whisper, voice thick. “Show me you want me.” Her fingers find my clit, stroking slow, then faster, my wetness coating her hand. I moan, loud, hips bucking. I kiss her neck, her breasts, then lower, tasting her. Her pussy is warm, slick, sweet-salty, and I lick slowly, savoring her gasps, my tongue swirling her clit as she grips my hair. *This is heaven.* She returns it, her mouth on me, sucking my clit, fingers sliding inside. “Fuck, Amanda,” I cry, pleasure spiking. We move together, bodies slick, her tongue deep, my fingers pumping, until we come hard, screaming, collapsing in a tangle of limbs.

A month later, we’re inseparable. My barista job at Brewed Awakening is a blast—I know regulars’ orders by heart, flirt with women who linger, and perfect latte art, my confidence soaring. Amanda’s receptionist quits, and she says, “Work with me, Kelsey. We’d be together all the time.” *Perfect.* I start, scheduling patients, my pastel pink blouse bright in her office. I’m efficient, charming clients, and Amanda steals glances, her hazel eyes sparkling. One evening, over wine, she asks me to move in. “It’s perfect,” she says, hand on mine. *It is.* I say yes. My days are vibrant—perfecting smoky eyes, trying bold lip colors, eating fresh salads and grilled fish. My nights with Amanda are electric—her fingers deep, my tongue on her clit. “I want you,” I moan, her mouth on my pussy, and she thrusts, making me scream. Lezapro made my life better—a woman who loves fiercely, lives boldly, and builds a life with Amanda, every touch, every kiss, every day.

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