I've spoken briefly about my struggle with anxiety in my recent posts. Truth be told, I wasn't sure if I wanted to share this information, but it has become such a part of me and my life I had to address it. I thought it was getting better, I thought I was getting better at managing it.
Two weeks ago I suffered a major relapse in the form of the worst panic attack I can remember ever happening. I'll set the scene for you. Monday morning, the trains are delayed. Fellow commuters are grouchy, and the delays mean that when the train eventually does arrive it is busier than usual. This is not usually a problem. I don't remember feeling particularity anxious about the journey. In fact, I don't remember thinking about anything specific at all.
It's no secret that Autumn and Winter are my favourite time of year. The crisp chill in the air, the crunch of leaves beneath booted feet, all the while wrapped up in a voluminous tartan scarf sipping on a steaming cup of Lady Grey - what's not to love?
