To put it plainly, my summer has been shit. It’s been a barely-sunny blur of SNRI withdrawal, panic, packing, unpacking and worrying about the future.
Before you start feeling sorry for me, I must stress that nothing particularly terrible has happened.
I just… haven’t been happy.
I’ll recap. In June I turned 31 alone in a five-star hotel in Mykonos where I had travelled to write a review. I had a two figure sum in my bank account at the time. The following day I left the land of thirty-euro cocktails and flew home to London to begin packing up 8 years of my life. After giving away or selling most of my furniture and heaping the rest on the street for passersby to take, I moved to Wales to live in my parents’ spare room.
Then- and I can’t think why- I went a little bit mad.