As previously noted, I have spent most of my adult life single. Prior to the breakdown, I’d had the privilege of being able to visit some of the most beautiful places both in the UK and around the World. I had never let being single get in the way of that either. I had absolutely no qualms in going away on my own. I have been on some amazing adventures in my life. I drove up the Pacific Coast Highway in the US. I drove from Orlando down to the Florida Keys. I even did a camel trek across the Sahara just so I could stay at the Star Wars Hotel in Tunisia! All of these were on my own. There’s a big wide world out there and I never wanted to miss an opportunity to go and check it out if I had the chance and the money.
In the run up to the breakdown, I was with Dave so we went on holiday together. We also saw some amazing places. Indeed, when we first got together, Dave didn’t have a Passport. I bought him a Passport as a present for our first Christmas together. He fell in love with Las Vegas, hated New York but loved Cancun. He wasn’t overly impressed with Paris (apart from Notre Dame) but enjoyed Fuerteventura. Safe to say, there was some travelling done when we were together. I felt safe and secure travelling with him even when my mental health was deteriorating because I was with the man I loved and we were together.
So that’s major travelling. What about getting around town? I live in London, I was working in the City. I would have no problems getting on the train to go to work, being in the hustle and bustle of the City during rush hour. I would go out at the weekends using public transport. I would go to concerts at big venues, being surrounded by thousands of other people enjoying some great music. I would go to Twickenham to watch the rugby. I would go to Wembley to watch the football. I would go to Lord’s to watch the cricket and I most definitely went to Alexandra Palace to watch the darts. All of these were attended using public transport and surrounded by significant numbers of other people. There wasn’t a problem.
Then my mental health started to deteriorate. I started to suffer panic attacks when walking to the train station before work. I started to hate the thought of getting on a train with people looking at me, judging me. I had concerts and sporting events booked but wouldn’t go because I became so anxious about being surrounded by so many people. I wouldn’t get on the bus. I was playing darts locally a couple of times per week and started missing those nights. I didn’t even want to be in a pub with a small number of other people, even though I knew them all. I started isolating.
It got so bad that I had to make sure that I had chums at the train station to commute into the City with me and to basically, make sure that I got to the office. Once I was in the office, I would just try to hide at my desk. However, I was just bursting into tears for no apparent reason and work was no longer becoming my sanctuary.
Driving was becoming more of an issue aswell. I have always loved driving and because I live in London and my family are spread around the country, I’m well used to just jumping in the car and driving off somewhere. I started not wanting to visit my parents. It would take a huge amount of effort for me to drive for two hours to my parents or the three hours to my sister’s.
Even whilst with Dave in the immediate run up to my breakdown, it was blatantly obvious that things were not good. Dave and I had tickets for a concert at The Dome in Greenwich. We were both looking forward to it. We got there and as soon as we started walking towards The Dome, I started to feel anxious and very uncomfortable. I kept it from Dave. We entered the venue and took our seats. I hated how I was feeling. My breathing was shallow. My palms were sweating. My heart rate was through the roof. We had to leave before the concert even started. I felt so bad for Dave because he had been looking forward to it but I just couldn’t stay there. I was in pieces. We walked out of the venue and I burst into tears. We had to go home. It took more than two hours for me to feel as if I was returning to a “normal” state. I hated it.
Immediately post-breakdown any travelling that I did was with Dave.
However, after we separated and the divorce process was underway I knew I wanted a holiday. Initially, I just assumed that I would be absolutely okay to travel on my own again and was researching my options for driving around Cuba. As I was doing the research, it became obvious to me that my first holiday post-Dave should not and could not be a solo trip. I was not ready. I am a work in progress.
Thankfully, my “London family”, i.e. Jack and Jill, their children along with Jill’s family came to my rescue with a cunning plan! Jack turned 50 this year and wanted to go to Northern Cyprus to celebrate his Birthday with his family. Jack and Jill count me as family and wanted me to go with them. There would be a nice, small group of about 15-20 of us going out there to celebrate his Birthday.
I signed up for it. Then panic started setting in again. How will I get through two weeks without really showing these people (as much as I love and respect them) what my life is really like on a day-to-day basis? How am I going to get through two weeks without showing them how much I really do eat and how secretly I eat and how much I binge eat? Will I get through the two weeks without self-harming? I will be away from my home for two weeks where I feel safe and can isolate. I would be opening myself up to these people who I adore, completely. Maybe more so than I do with even my own family. This was going to be really hard but I desperately needed a holiday after the divorce was finalised and I had finally put that Chapter behind me.
But, hey, I’d made it through the divorce process of well over a year without being admitted back into Nutlins and with very minimal self-harming, so how hard could two weeks on holiday really be?
More on how I coped with the trip coming up.
Living The BPD Life 