ure, the sighting of a lone magpie has never been a comfort to me, and, as far as I’m concerned, black cats always have right of way, but I’d never considered myself to be particularly superstitious. On closer inspection, however, I’ve realised this not to be the case. Living with anxiety – and its sidekick panic – means that, at times of stress, it can take a lot for me to dial down my internal threat monitor. An ache in my chest from a workout class quickly escalates into me believing I have a heart condition. With effort, I can get back to a place where an ache is simply an ache, but I realised recently that I don’t actually know to enjoy uncomplicated happiness – I need to think there is something a little bit wrong. Feeling too happy makes me scared, somehow, as though happiness can be jinxed.
