getting heavy

I'm really trying to stay positive. One day at a time, she says. One day at a time.

But it's getting heavy.



I can handle things one day at a time. Like an addict. I suppose I am in a way, addicted to my life and my people here. I have to slowly undo the stitching linking my heart to theirs. I have to quietly back away from the situation so that I refrain from leaving a vacuum to be immediately filled. I have to stage a neutral exit so that I can easily slip back in, where I want to be, when I return.

The problem is, I'm not quiet. I'm not neutral, and I'm not slow. I'm impatient and rowdy and angry and loud, I want to scream and cry and fight the approaching date of my departure, one week from today. I want to straightjacket myself and my love together, so he believes I won't stray. So I stop myself from leaving while I'm away.

Last time I came back from three months abroad, everything was different. My friends had moved on. My person had preempted me. I had even less than I started with; I suppose the root of my fear of leaving my people is feeling those feelings again. It was different though, I have to remember to use my lawyer skills and distinguish between then and now. The people are different, the relationships are different. I'm counting on the outcome being different, too, or else this may be a group of decisions and a period in my life that will never shed the taint of regret, no matter how great the experience.

(I don't need people to be strong, I need to know how you feel. I'm feeling, I want to know how you feel too, so I know it's real, we're real, and things will probably be alright. I don't need a tall tree; I need to see you feeling my loss.)

One problem I always have when looking ahead to an upcoming journey is my debilitating fear of flying. I can't get excited for a trip when the date is within a few weeks, because all I can think about is how there won't be any adventure if the plane doesn't make it. This anxiety is quadrupled in this case due to the sheer number of flights separating me from the beginning of my internship: five. FIVE FLIGHTS. Five planes, five crews, five take-offs and landings. Five different times things can go seriously wrong. Five is a lot. My plane anti-anxiety meds have begun to lose their effect, as I can no longer sleep all the way through any flight, and thus spend the last few hours with my hands cemented to the armrests, my heart racing racing racing trying to escape my ribcage, and my jaw locked in terror. I've grabbed a good number of arms of nearby travelers during turbulence (when I was 16, alone on a flight back from Germany, I met a very handsome Kiwi this way, so it's not all bad). I'm pretty convinced that, if ever anything dire did happen on one of my flights, it would be while I was taking a pee in the restroom, also out of which I'm convinced the floor could fall out at any moment, especially while I am the occupant. As biff and I always say, if it's going to happen at all, it's going to happen to you.

So many irrational thoughts about flying. It's terribly unfortunate, too, because I adore traveling. I just have to drug myself up to the point where others perceive me as a lobotomy victim before I can board the plane, and then just keep swallowing the meds until right before we land. It's easier flying with someone, especially my Pirate. Because I can grab him anytime I want, with no weird stares or calling of flight attendants to report the touchy, drooling woman in 16B. Because, just as irrationally, my mind thinks he can save me from any dangerous situation that might arise while we're flying. Or at least we'd be together if he couldn't.

I'm trying to repeat, rinse, repeat this song, It's only fear by Alexi Murdoch. I'm scared. I knew this was why I needed to go on this trip, too. I'm losing my edge. I wavered, for a second, but still. For so much of my near-adult and adult life, I've fancied myself someone who could and would pick up everything in a second when adventure presented itself. Thinking about it now, I think much of that impulse and bravery had more to do with having so little to lose, rather than being an awesome character trait of mine. Thus, now that I feel like I have so much, in quantity and quality, to lose, it's not as easy, or painless. And I questioned it. And now I'm questioning it more. Yes, assuming the people at the Thai Embassy decide to go to work for a few hours this week, I'll get my visa, and I'll be going. Even if the plane tickets weren't purchased, I'm almost positive I'd still be going. But it just feels heavier this time. It feels heavy, it's more burdensome. It's a good time to learn that everything costs something, I guess. One of many, many truths I'm sure to be discovering out there on my own.

There's fear there too, in what will change in me. We don't know what we know until it's tested; and what a test I've subjected my life to! I picture a colander: I'm pouring my life through the holes to see what makes it out on the other side. I am looking for the holes. Seeing what's worn out, seeing what fits in, seeing what's solid enough to make it through the journey. I worry about what won't be there. I worry about who will be missing from the end pile, from the result, from my life when I come back. I worry about what will have warped in the process, what will have made it only in pieces, what will get stuck in the holes.



"There's far too many questions to ask, to answer any of them tonight. Confusion casts a shadow upon me, like a great big cloud in the sky. And now I pray for rain, because it's been so long since I let myself cry."