In March 2018, I headed to Sri Lanka with Emma, one of my best friends from university, for almost three weeks.
My excitement should have been radiating from within. I should have been OTT hyped. It was the first trip I was about to take in over a year with a friend, and one of the first I had organised myself in around the same time. I wouldn’t be doing any writing, or blogging, or social media. I wasn’t indebted to a brand or company. It was to be my time, and mine alone.
But I was still really nervous. What if I’d forgotten how to travel with someone else?
I was also anxious about the possibility that my moods would ruin the trip. I’d spent the first three months of the year wallowing in a deep, dark well of depression that I just couldn’t seem to leave behind me.
I’d tried herbal medicines, upped the ante on my exercise regime, and considered anti-depressants. But this persistent fog crept into my brain and clouded my vision, turning my technicolour world totally grey. What if this follows me to Sri Lanka? I thought.