Escape through travel works. Almost from the moment I boarded my flight, life in England became meaningless. Seat belt signs lit up, problems switched of. Broken armrests took precedence over broken hearts. By the time the plane was air borne, I’d forgotten England even existed.

— The Beach.

As I sit in Dublin airport, I think I’ve had a really good 2 weeks and maybe I am finally ready to embark on this little solo trip to Copenhagen to visit some travel friends. I have been doing really well in myself and have been able to do all the things I want to do. My anxiety levels at the moment mean I am more than capable of doing the things that I want to do. I have been going around Ireland, seeing friends and visiting family. I really have felt calmness and contentedness by being at home in Ireland and being around people who love me. I’ve also felt good in myself, in the sense that I am a good person, kind, caring and fun (which I had been lacking over the last few weeks).

But as soon as I start to go through the airport, that tightening of the chest begins, my heart rate is increasing and I have to remind myself to take deep breaths to ensure I don’t spiral out of control. If I don’t recognise the signs it can cause me to have a full on panic attack. Whats my trigger? I am travelling solo which is something I hadn’t been doing while I was in my last relationship and I’m at a departure gate that has some memories attached. The relationship broke down and I have accepted that that relationship wasn’t going to work and that we were not the right people for one another. The hurt I felt from that break up was the straw that broke the camel’s back in London and I hit rock bottom. For the first time ever I was incapable of doing my job. Although I’ve suffered with anxiety my whole life I have always gotten up, gone to school, college or work and have gotten through the day. This bout was the first time that I was unable to complete my job, a job I have always loved and enjoyed and I felt had energised me every day. 

A year in London in a long distance relationship with a man who was having a difficult time, in a job that I felt I was untrained and overworked in, sent me down a very dangerous path. I needed more and more time on my own. I needed more sleep, more calmness, more alone time and less human interaction after a long day at work. Between school weighing me down and feeling like I needed to be the support for close relationships in my life, I was left feeling completely depleted. I had at once a partner and a best friend in London and due to different reasons both of them had to leave and I felt completely isolated. 

I started having panic attacks again in May and throughout the month they got worse and worse. They began to take over my life and I had to leave work.

I didn’t realise what was happening me until I went to the doctor and he put me on antidepressants. It was all circumstantial. I am not someone who suffers daily with depression but I was suffering then. Like adding more and more liquid to a glass, it spilled over and made a complete fucking mess. I wanted to go on antidepressants to ensure I could finish the final few weeks in school which involved packing up my stuff as I’d already handed in my notice but also to take 16 students to Greece on a school trip. Looking back on it, it’s absolute nonsense that I was trying to make myself better just to finish a job. Luckily my head teacher sent me home and told me to get back to Ireland to my family.

Since I don’t know any other way to live, usually I internalise my anxiety and get on with it. When I was younger, my mother always understood what was going on with me and supported me with my anxiety. At age 4 she brought me to a health store and I remember her telling me about how I was described as a Pulsatilla child. I was fair, blonde haired and blue eyed and suffered with anxiety. I wanted to go to school but became sick almost every morning. This took the form of stomach pain. Needless to say as the youngest of 4 I got an awful doing off my brothers for it.

Years later, as a teacher I met a kid who was exactly the same. He came in at least once a week complaining of stomach pain, crying and not fully understanding what was going on with him. He was a classic anxiety case. He was so intelligent and was normally top of his class, in particular, maths, my subject. He got better as the year went on and eventually he settled into school really well. I always ended up being the go to person for a lot of these anxious kids. I can empathise with them and assure them that there is light at the end of the tunnel.

As I’ve gotten older I’ve become much more aware of my anxiety and am finally able to say out loud that I have anxiety. In the past I feel I was seen as overly sensitive, crazy or being unable to cope. Normally travel doesn’t cause me much anxiety (a littl here and there but nothing I can’t cope with) but given that this was a solo trip to friends I met travelling I had a lot to be anxious about. What if we didn’t get along? What if I got an anxiety attack while I was over there and had to explain to people? I met these people travelling, while I was at my best and now I wasn’t feeling as sparkly. 

As I sit on the air plane to Copenhagen, my anxiety is subsiding. I know and recognise the triggers. I have pushed myself to travel and enjoy myself. This didn’t pay off in Spain 2 weeks ago and I ended up really sick again with anxiety, which is absolutely fine, shit happens, we move on. I hope I’ve made some progress over the last 2 weeks and am able to cope with 4 nights in Denmark.