Good morning.
Jet lag has officially ruined any form of regular sleep schedule I once held onto. In the past 24 hours I have had no more than five hours of sleep, and the lines between extreme exhaustion and sadness about being alone again are vastly blurred.
So I’m giving myself permission to figure that out.
Right now. At 6 AM. Instead of risking going back to sleep and not waking up in time for work. Instead of going to Bar Method. Instead of scrolling through Instagram.
I want to let it all out now before I push it aside any longer.
I am well aware of the crash that comes after spending time with friends or family. Whether it be friends coming here for a visit, my mom staying with me for a few weeks, or just getting to go home, I know that the aftermath sucks. I can confidently self-diagnose myself with attachment disorder and see how changes in my environment- more specifically who I’m surrounded with- affects my emotional well-being.
Simply put, sad. I get sad when people leave.
So I know that’s going to happen. I can predict it. It’s pretty much second nature.
But what still surprises me is the anxiety I get at the airport.
When I’m dropping someone off or picking up them up, I know that someone is coming or leaving and I’m staying. It’s a bummer most times, but my stability lies in knowing that I’m not the one going anywhere. But when it’s my turn to do the leaving or coming, I feel a whole new wave of sadness. A different category in itself.
The strongest trigger point I’ve had this year has been asking people if they could pick me up from the airport.
Because what if they can’t? What if there’s no one to drive me there and say goodbye as I leave? Even worse, what if there’s no one here to pick me up and welcome me back home?
Which in turn has me questioning whether this is the place I want to call home or not. Because how is it home if there’s no one to miss you when you’re gone? How is it home if there’s no one excited to see you when you get back?
Who do I even have anymore?
Home is supposed to be where people give you hugs at the airport. Where they say they’ll miss you and can’t wait for you to come back. Where they get excited to see you return.
But I don’t think anyone misses me while I’m gone. I don’t think anyone gets excited for me to be back.
The airport trigger attacks my deepest fear of not being seen and needed. Not being part of a community where you are loved and necessary. It feeds me the lies that I constantly have to fight off. The one where I tell myself that I am not important here.