Lately, I’ve been on the road a lot, and I’ve come to find that travelling can be quite therapeutic.
For a while, I’ve been allowing myself to get wrapped up in my own little world. Going on these trips have helped me to feel a little more human again, and even a little victorious.
Not too long ago, I hated the thought of having to go to school. It was the only place I had to go by myself, to face my anxiety on my own. With God’s guidance, I was soon able to tackle my fears head on and overcome my agoraphobia. Each time I find myself feeling completely comfortable in my own skin, even with a whole crowd watching, my heart rejoices.
My greatest battle for the past few months of my life has been trying to regain my sense of individuality. After overcoming agoraphobia, I thought I’d already won that battle. Much to my surprise, it didn’t take long for another storm to hit. Lately, I’m hardly alone, and I feel as if I am beginning to forget who I am.
The complexity of my illness often makes the reality of it much too difficult to be explained to strangers, but the questions never stop. The only problem I have with this is the question of whether or not I should lie. So many genuinely want to help. Some only want to know. Whatever the intention, it always ends the same. I become my illness, and the person behind it fades into the background.
When I travel, I am reminded that there is a big world out there waiting for me. Nothing will stop me from doing what I came here for, and while I’m not sure where this journey will take me, I’m going to make the best of it.