A London Bridge Commuter Panic

Dear Delyara, I was standing by the yellow line at London Bridge tonight when a man stepped up behind me, his shoulder brushing against my coat as he hurried past to catch a train. In a fraction of a second, my body went entirely wild with fury. My hands clenched into fists, my vision went white at the edges, and I had to actively restrain myself from spinning around to strike him. The threat wasn't real—he was just a regular commuter in a rush—but my nervous system doesn't operate in the present day. It is still entirely stuck in that dark alleyway from years ago, permanently convinced that every movement is an ambush, and the rage at my own broken wiring is making me sick.