Having once been diagnosed with PTSD, anxiety and depression in my early twenties, I seemed to only know how to exist within the confines of the reverie in which I would relive past losses, rejections, traumas and failures, comforted by the familiarity of the sadness that would follow. The only constant I knew. And if I wasn't in said reverie, I'd find myself preoccupied with fear of the future, of the unknown, in a constant state of fight or flight, or how I like to refer to