So I fully expected to start freaking out about going away at some point, and in all honesty it’s come as a bit of a welcome surprise that it’s only really happened in the last two weeks before travel. However for the last three days I’ve felt permanently like I can’t breathe. Oh good.
I’m not even that worried about when I’m out there, I’m stressing out about all the things I need to do before I go to put my life on pause for three months. The list seems to keep filling up at the top and emptying quite slowly at the bottom. It probably doesn’t help either that I have been choosing to deal with the things on the list like ‘buy a snapback’ instead of the things like ‘make sure the council know I’m going away’. Sensible life choices there.
In my head I can’t figure out if three months seems like a massive expanse of time or barely anything at all. Steph has been gone nearly that long and it only seems like yesterday I was helping calm her last minute packing nerves. However, when I think about leaving my life here behind, and the people I see on a weekly basis, or speak to on a daily basis, it does give me a knot in my stomach – then it seems like ages to be away.
Right now I’m not even sure I can tell you I’m excited, I mainly just want to hide in bed and go ‘NO THIS FEELS OVERWHELMING I’M GOING TO HIDE HERE’. But that’s anxiety for you, and part of my motivation for going too. I spent many years giving in to the feeling I wanted to hide or run away from things. Yes this seems scary, and yes I wish I could fast forward the next week and just get in to the uncertain and start having fun but I’ve got to do this bit first and I’m going to prove to myself that I can.
And then I’m going to drink so much beer.