I can’t see anything except when the light strobes on the underside of the prop plane. Bright flashes show sheets of horizontal rain in-between bouts of turbulence kicking us back and forth. And beyond all that, inky night. It’s the kind of dark that’s more grey than black, more full than empty. I stare at the storm and see the perfect reflection of my current mind. I feel full of thunderous thoughts and endless rains of sorrow. I’ve just left my home, my friends, my country, and none of it was my choice. But that hardly matters now. Now, I’m stuck in the grey, somewhere between my known past and my unforeseen future.

The past week has been a blur of planes, trains and automobiles, climbing mountains of stress, and the sheer will to push to the next moment.

I’ve been here before.

I remember running away with only a bag, barely any money, and next to nowhere to go. My past literally chasing me down if I stopped before I could hide. Back then, it didn’t feel like I had a choice but to leave and this time, the choice was taken from me. Perhaps that’s why I feel more afraid now than when I was thrust into the world not knowing a thing. I have more certainties now than I did then but I’m still heading into the unknown. It’s just another example of the seasons changing but the pattern remaining familiar. Perhaps I got too comfortable. Life has a way of pulling the rug out from under you if you are too close to stagnation.

The storm is still raging.

It feels like I’m going to be stuck up here forever. But of course, that’s impossible. I used to bury all emotions so when I started to take the time to feel them, I thought they would never end. God bless my therapist who sat with me and showed me that even the worst hurricane eventually ends. It’s hard for me to reach the side of acceptance for my current circumstances. I want to stay caught in my rage and sorrow over the unfairness of it all rather than move to excitement for the new opportunities.

I’m exhausted.

For me, that’s progress. At least I’m feeling something and as I’ve been taught, no emotion is bad. Coming to the realization that Anger is a good and useful emotion to have was one of the bitterest pills to swallow. The hateful voice in my head that closely resembles my mother tells me anger has no place if you can’t do anything to change your circumstances. Perhaps that’s true, but I know I can’t logic away my emotions, which I must say is incredibly unhelpful. So, if I take the time to acknowledge how I feel, I’ll be able to move through it.

The storm hasn’t ebbed but we will be landing soon. Back on earth, the perspective will change, the trajectory of the storm moving past a point, no longer part of eternal grey of the gale. A good reminder. My triggered self is not satisfied but she quietly growls, sated by my acknowledgement of her feelings. The storm may not be over, but it will eventually end. For now, it’s enough.

Love, Bug