claustrophobia
a dairy entry in verse
I made it to Dublin!
I haven’t left the airport.
I’ve been sitting here for hours
Watching hordes and trickles of tourists
Trip off their red-eyes into overpriced cafes
Serving Guinness before sunrise.
I’ve been awake since yesterday’s breakfast.
That’s long enough for my texting to become dyslexic
And my 501’s to soften around the pockets.
On Aer Lingus,
I chose an aisle seat
Towards the end of a section
To give myself multiple points of egress
If the claustrophobia came on strong.
And it’s not that I’m not afraid of flying,
It’s the feeling of stuck-ness
In a cylindrical barrel
Breathing recycled air
With 189 other people.
I have coping mechanisms, kinda,
I’m trying hard to make them look like
Girly little (acceptable) quirks.
I’ve lost count
Of how many times I’ve cried.
I’m terrified;
A little ant in this city,
Squashed by the newness.
I’m home from my study abroad trip now. I survived.
This entry stuck out to me when I reread my journal because of how it represented my overall experience on the trip.
I felt suffocated throughout my travels, even when standing at the edge of a beautiful, seemingly endless, landscape.
I felt trapped knowing that I was still the same ruthie, with the same old issues, even with a new country at my fingertips to explore.
People keep asking me if I enjoyed the trip.
I say yes, because really what else am I supposed to say?
But I would have enjoyed it a lot more if I didn’t spend so much time and effort hating that a new place didn’t miraculously create a new me.