microjournal

I fly to LA on Thursday. The airport is one of the scariest places for me. The noise, the sounds, the hugeness of it. It overwhelms my senses. I feel off, really off, like I’m walking on the deck of a ship. My head spins but I’m not spinning. My hands sweat. I feel like I need to run. Get out of there. Usually, the anticipation of going to the airport builds weeks in advance, I’m a wreck, I’m sick, I can’t sleep. The anxiety just grows and grows. This time, I’m anxious, really anxious, but I’m trying to just let it be.

Seventeen years since I started writing here. The anxiety never left. But I stopped talking about it. Starting again feels like standing at the edge of something — not sure if it’s a cliff or a doorway. Guess I’ll find out.