The Traveling Ritual

It begins far in advance. I’d never been a meticulous packer until the London/Paris trip. I used to dump everything into my luggage the day or night before my flight and hope I hadn’t missed anything important or that K had the foresight to pack it, if we were traveling together.

These last two trips, I made a packing list and shopped for the things I needed — extra Tums, Kind bars in case I was hungry before I needed to take my medication, extra heat pads and liquid painkillers (both acetaminophen and ibuprofen) in case I got debilitating period cramps again, etc. — days before the flight. I rolled up all my clothes, Marie Kondo style. I packed stuff into smaller bags before putting them in my luggage. I think I needed some sense of organization and control. That if all my shit was nicely packed, the travel would go smoothly.

Then of course, there is the paralyzing fear and anxiety, which eats away at me slowly, beginning days before the travel. I try to push it out of my mind, to worry about it later. After all, worrying won’t change anything. Better to delay the anxiety so I have to experience less of it overall.

Sometimes, distraction works. Sometimes, I lie in bed, unable to get up, because the prospect of a long and winding car ride where motion sickness is almost inevitable or a 15-hour flight where I can’t get off in the middle, is too much to bear. It takes over my brain, and my thoughts spiral into the worst case scenarios that almost never materialize. Yet that doesn’t change a thing. It could happen this time, is the constant refrain. Logic and rationality have no place here.

Sometimes, I think, I could just take one of my Klonopins to calm the storm in my mind. The psychiatrist prescribed it to me twice, so 40 pills. It’s a lot, given that I only need it for travel. But I know that I can’t do this to myself again. I don’t want to sleep through my existence or live my days in a hazy stupor like I did in high school, when I was abusing antiemetics. Even worse, I know better than to let myself become vulnerable to dependency and addiction. But sometimes, the thought does enter my mind. This will be the only time. But of course it won’t.

The day arrives. I’m all packed. I’m wearing my comfiest clothes, sometimes going bra-less if I’m wearing a fleece jacket on top. I’ve done all the math already. Got a plan mapped out for when to take all my pills before and during the travel. Just need to execute now. It’s a delicate balance of how much to eat and when to eat it before traveling. Too much and I’ll be anxious I overate or the travel will upset my stomach. Too little and I’ll be anxious the medication will upset my stomach, because for some weird fucking reason, my anti-nausea medication can cause stomach upset if eaten on an empty stomach. Real fucking useful. But I don’t have anything better. The Kind bars help with the balancing act. Better to eat less and then top up with Kind bars.

At the airport, one hour before boarding, I take one Klonopin. One hour before the plane or car actually moves, I take one Phenergan. I start my stopwatch on my phone just to make sure I don’t take too many, because of course, that might upset my stomach.

And then I wait. For my eyelids and my limbs to get heavy. For my brain to start feeling foggy. For my movements to get slow and uncoordinated. For when I need K to hold my arm to walk better. Not for the rush of calm that Valium brings and that I almost don’t want to admit how much I miss, but for Klonopin’s steadiness that I’ve come to appreciate. Instead of an instant sense of relaxation, it’s more of what I would imagine motherly comfort to be. A thin bubble enveloping me, giving me confidence that everything will be fine. That what I was worrying about is further away than I thought it was. Something I would be silly to be anxious about.

Even with the pills, the fear is not gone. The anxiety is pretty controlled but the fear and the thoughts still plague me, in the back of my mind, but muted. Will it be today? Will the medication fail? Every moment, I’m assessing how my body feels, watching for the tiniest change or twinge of discomfort or abnormality. I do this anyway, even on normal days. On medication, it’s no different. The medication simply helps to sedate me, put me to sleep so I can’t worry, and keeps the uproar in my mind to a whisper, or at least an indoor voice.

On the plane, I leave my backpack in close range so I can get whatever I need. I have my bag of supplies with me. I put on my Sea-Bands, three fingers below my wrists. I smear some of the minty ointment underneath and around my nostrils, an action I will repeat many times throughout the flight. I’m always chewing on my citrusy snack. I put on my AirPods and play the “fear of flying” meditation on Headspace. When that’s over, I start playing Weightless by Marconi Union on repeat. Depending on the length of the flight, I might leave it on for the entire duration. By then I’m pretty drowsy, and I’ll be slipping in and out of sleep. When the food comes, sometimes I eat a little, depending on how turbulent the flight is. Every 4 hours, only if I feel the need or if it’s turbulent, I’ll take another dose of Klonopin and/or Phenergan. Ideally, I sleep through the 4-hour mark and can delay the dose. I don’t much like the feeling of being drugged up but at this point, it’s just a necessity to get me where I have to be.

Repeat all the way until arrival. Upon arrival, depending on how I’m feeling, I have to sleep the drugs off or wait a bit before I’m back to my natural state. The constant is that I have gotten there in one piece, usually none the worse for wear, usually better than I had expected.

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