Seven or so years ago, I was at university and severely depressed. I could barely peel myself out of bed in the morning, I didn’t have the energy for anything. Going to the kitchen to make breakfast was like climbing a mountain, so most days I didn’t bother. It was easier to starve. Eventually, the hunger would become too painful and only then would I stumble to make a sandwich. I was completely unmotivated.
Around a week ago now, our plane took off from Christchurch and we watched as New Zealand disappeared beneath our feet.
After our 11 months in New Zealand, it started to feel a lot like home. However, it seemed like we had explored it all and that it had no more secrets. Like an on old lover, we’d gone through the honeymoon phase and were now completely in the comfort phase. We’d stopped trying so hard to explore the country, preferring to spend our days sitting in our pjyamas with it, being lazy.
We learnt to love New Zealand in the end, but as so often happens we found ourselves falling into a dull routine. It was about the right time to head to Australia. I don’t know if we’ll ever go back to New Zealand, does it have any more to offer us? Maybe we’ll miss it in future on lonely nights. Homesick for a place that’s not even our home.
Now we find ourselves in Australia. A new place. A new home?
Despite this blog having the name Anxious Travelers, you’ve probably noticed that recently there has been a lot more said about travel than anxiety. There’s a reason for this. For me, anxiety isn’t an ever present thing. It comes and goes. One day it’s on my shoulders, dragging me down. Then it’s gone for a while, waiting for the next moment to pounce.
When we arrived in New Zealand eight months ago, I was in one of my positive periods. Nothing in life bothered me, I was happy – or happy enough. Things were going great. We’d arrived in this new beautiful place, we had healthy bank accounts and everybody spoke English. Hallelujah!
As time has gone on, things have started to take a downturn.
If you’d asked me a few years ago whether I was looking forward to Christmas, I would have spat in your face and screamed, “Bah humbug!” As a kid, I loved Christmas. Christmas meant presents, and what child doesn’t like a house filled with new shiny toys?
As I grew up – and the appeal of toys waned – my excitement was soon replaced with something else. Anxiety and stress.
This is part 3 in a series of posts about a trip to Amsterdam, part 2 can be found here.
Part 3: Finding God
Falling back into the bed, the drugs took a stronger hold of me.
I was still somewhat aware of where I was – a clean modern room in one of Amsterdam’s nicest hotels. Yet, my arms couldn’t feel the softness of the sheets and my eyes couldn’t enjoy our view of the city. My head span, so I closed my eyes and lay, trying to focus on nothing.
This is part 2 in a series of posts about a trip to Amsterdam, part 1 can be found here.
Part 2: Losing Control
If you ever have a good idea and it includes taking drugs, then stop. Take a moment to think. It’s not a good idea.
Our “good idea” was so perfect that it didn’t warrant discussion. Wake up, eat breakfast. Early morning joint. Head to a smart shop. Buy some magic mushrooms. Go to a coffee shop, another joint. Have lunch, then back to the hotel to take the mushrooms.