What It's Really Like Traveling With Depression and Anxiety
The lights are too bright. Every single noise sounds like an explosion in my head. Every step feels heavier and makes my heart race more. It feels like I’ve forgotten how to breathe and only just remembered two seconds ago.By the time I got to the Airline Services desk at Heathrow Airport on October 21st, I was one wrong word away from crying. The second I opened my mouth though? Let’s just say I feel really bad for the poor British Airlines employees who witnessed my anxiety attack first-hand.Most situations I run into while I’m traveling are ones I’ve been in before. Or at least, variations of the familiar. Losing my boarding pass after I got through security at one of the biggest and busiest airports in the world? Not even close to familiar.And that wasn’t even the first attack I’d had that week.
It seems like every solo trip I take involves some kind of anxiety attack. Even this trip to Albany. The day before, I was in the same spot, crying my eyes out because I couldn't figure out the automatic timer on my camera.
Supercomputer or Virus?
It’s hard to put into words exactly how my brain works. Half the time, it feels like everything is moving a mile a minute and I can process information and remember facts faster than I thought I was capable of. The other half of the time, it feels like my brain is trying to destroy itself. Or, at least, destroy me.My mother once told me that I sabotage myself - always sit waiting for the other shoe to drop. And it’s true, but it’s not a choice. It’s anxiety. It’s my OCD not letting me rest until I’ve considered every possible way in which a thing can go wrong (and planned what I’ll do and say when it does).So it really does raise the question: how the hell do I travel by myself on a regular basis?I honestly don’t know.
How I Handle Attacks on the Road...
Most of the time, when I travel, it feels like my brain...switches off? Goes numb? Quiets down? It’s not the best way to put it but it’s the only way I know how. I feel like I’m living my best life and nothing can stop me.But what it also means is that, when the anxiety hits me, it knocks me flat on my a**.So, you see, it’s a bit of a conundrum. My most recent trip to London was one of the most anxiety-filled experiences of my life (see: the literal beginning of this post). However, it was also one of the most amazing. They’re not mutually exclusive for me. Did I have an anxiety attack on my very first day there? Yes I did. Did I call the restaurant I had made reservations at earlier that month sobbing and apologizing? Yes I did. I almost didn’t. When your brain actively tells you that everyone will hate you and judge you and think less of you if you’re anything less than perfect, it’s easier to just never pick up the phone. Never leave the house. Never take the dream job. I won’t lie. My boyfriend took the brunt of the anxiety attack. For thirty minutes, he talked me down enough to realize that everyone would not hate me if I called the restaurant.For another ten, he tried to convince me to actually call the restaurant.
If it hadn't been for my boyfriend talking me down, I wouldn't have called The Mind Palace and asked to still come in despite having slept through my reservation...
The moral to the story is this...
Even when you’re traveling alone, keep yourself connected to the people that support you.
Traveling with depression and anxiety is hard. When I don’t get enough sleep, I get depressed. When I get depressed, I slip up and make mistakes because I can’t bring myself to actually care about anything. When I make mistakes, I get anxious. When I get anxious, I don’t sleep because I lay awake dissecting everything I did wrong.It’s a vicious cycle.When you throw in that I’m not eating as healthily as I do at home, I’m running myself into the ground trying to do and see everything, and I’m really not staying hydrated, it’s no wonder that I crash as hard as I do once the adrenaline of being in a new place wears off.What I’m trying to say is that traveling alone with a mental illness is possible. Is it the easiest thing in the world? No, absolutely not. But it’s worth it.