A Solo Travellers Mind

30.07.22

I’ve always struggled with my mental health, so it came as no surprise to me that 8-10 weeks before I was due to travel the world, and live the life I’ve dreamed of, that my so-called “good mental health” CRUMBLED. But why wouldn’t it? As someone who’s struggled with low mood, intrusive thoughts, anxiety and an eating disorder for the majority of her adolescent and young adult life, suddenly having everything you’ve worked towards in front of you, physically at the end of your finger tips, is actually quite a fucked up and over whelming thing. Knowing that all the causes of my trauma will be physically behind me is strange, because although it will still remain in me, and cracks will show, it’ll no longer be part of my life directly. So  weeks before my flight, I crashed. My motivation to do anything, my love for almost everything, all died. I was dating someone at this point, a temporary arrangement we could say, and it helped me forget all my shit, almost pretending I was living a different life, a simpler life. The arrangement came to an end, as we knew it would, and this is when things got BAD. A week of nothing but tears, binge watching TV (incredibly good TV though, I must say), and simply surviving. A week may not seem like a long time, but for me, someone who hadn’t really struggled with my mental health for almost a year, the week felt long… And I knew in myself that by continuing this downward spiral I was not only heading down an incredibly slippery road, but I was also potentially throwing away the final few weeks I had left in this country.  So picking myself up, focusing on what I enjoy, my job, the runners high, plans with friends, my real friends, people who got me and my wonderful brain, I started to piece together what the fuck was going on in my head.