A story about dreams and ambitions in the face of anxiety and depression
“Can you tell that I cried?” I text my friend and send her a photo of my face.
It is a windy day, and I am sitting on a wet park bench near my office. With every gust of wind leaves rain down around me. It is half-past eight in the morning.
“No, you look fine,” she texts back, so I get up and walk down the street to work. I hate going to work after therapy because I feel drained and exhausted after my therapist drilled my brain with questions for an hour. Usually, I don’t cry during the…
