As I sit writing in this dimly lit room, it is only fitting I call this blog post A Letter. This is a letter to my past and present, a letter to all those I have loved and hurt. This is a letter to myself.
Close to three weeks ago, nauseous, light-headed, weak and trembling, I stumbled off of my train from London to Coventry. Millions of thoughts crossed my mind; still my focus was on getting home as quickly as possible, ensuring no one would see me in such a state. As I mumbled to the cab driver my address, I looked at my reflection from my phone screen, unsure of who to call. No. I had no one to call. My first anxiety attack … and I had no one to call. Well, it’s not that I had no one to call; my pride just stopped me from admitting how weak I could be. I fell victim to my own inadequacy.