Pre-Ecuador

Here I am. Off to another trip again.

This time, I will try my hardest and bestest to keep this blog alive, unlike the other two trips I took, which were hectic.
The truth of the matter is, I am much more inclined to keep a blog alive when I travel alone. There is a good chance you will have reading material for a week starting Saturday.


With that said, there is a little bit of information that I have no revealed to a lot of my friends. I was diagnosed with General Anxiety Disorder, and even though, most of my generation can relate in some way shape or form to this crippling disorder, it has recently turned me into a crabby individual.
See, I could have told you I had anxiety, everyone can. At the age of 6, I remember having belly pains about going to school. At the age of 10, I remember inviting everyone at my birthday party so no one would feel left out. At the age of 16, I remember pinching my arms, waiting by my boyfriend's class to see if he got a good grade on his test. At the age of 21, I remember canceling my birthday party because I couldn't endure the imminent lack of interest. At the age of 22, I remember booking a flight to Costa Rica in order to get away from the crushing pressure of adulthood. At the age of 23, I remember being on medication so I could go through my daily routine without a panic attack. At the age of 24, I remember not eating because my stomach was back at twisting itself. At the age of 25, I booked a flight to Ecuador and drowned myself in work so I wouldn't have to glare at my harsh reality.

This trip isn't just a fun spring break trip by myself. I am taking this trip to Ecuador, as a sort of mental/ emotional rejuvenation. Since the school year started, 2015-2016 has not been very kind to this little cat lover. I have lost my dearest and closest living thing, Kitten/ Nala, to a sudden and inexplicable illness. I've had countless failures at my new teaching job, failed relationships, fading friendships and unfortunately, in the most recent events, two more deaths to add to the list. Those were people I admired greatly for their work ethic and the passion they carried out with zerp expectation from society.
This has left me in shambles to say the least, and I know understand when people say "When it rains, it pours."

If I was still talking to my therapist, she would reiterate " You don't mind getting stabbed, but you are afraid of the paper cuts." With years behind me now, I know exactly why I don't mind getting stabbed.

First, biologically speaking, your body releases endorphin after a stab. The body protects itself from the tremendous pain that it suffers. For a paper cut, the body does nothing. For that matter, in my experience, a paper cut doesn't even heal within a week, it is bothersome and it gets infected one way or another.
Second, statistically speaking, I am much less likely to experience a stab than a paper cut. This year has been full of paper cut. Every month, I've sliced my finger on a piece of blank paper.
Third, from metaphorical experience, getting stabbed makes for an awesome story. Paper cuts are just downers.

Don't get me wrong, I have had plenty of joyful moment. I have had the luck to have a new little furball, Rebel. I've worked hard enough to be accepted into Graduate School. My principals and department head are giving me glowing reviews across the board. I've been lucky in many ways.

Unfortunately, the chemicals in my brains and my current interactions are not conducive to my happiness, and so it is with a very light heart and very much anticipation that I will be boarding that plane (even though American Airlines canceled all my miles. Effing Noodle Heads).
I can't wait to share my experiences. As always, this will be blocks of texts rather than pictures.
(One day, I will get on the pictures thing, for now, enjoy the good old medium of imagination)