I stand in the rain. Edinburgh rain — the kind that lingers almost permanently regardless of season — lends itself well to a sombre mood, the greyness of thought that has made itself comfortable in my head since the ’90s. I ordered an Eggnog Latte having never drunk proper eggnog in my life, and the attempt at being festive is just a reminder I shouldn’t have caffeine. It also makes it difficult to fish around for my debit card for the bus.
My anxiety is through the roof and, staring along the road in search for the glowing lights of the 26, I wonder why. Could it be that I am jobless? That I left a company I was comfy at for what I thought was my big break and quit three weeks later? Or could it be I am still crippled with grief from the sudden loss of two family members? Surely not. It’s because I’m broken, I think to myself, rather than acknowledging any number of rational reasons that might explain why I can never catch my breath.