Traveling with Mental Health

Fasten your seatbelts and open your eyes, this is going to be an action-packed, emotional rollercoaster, a hot, sweaty, and fun-filled blog. (I hope.) This is going to be one hell of a journey and I'm glad to be sharing it with people.

I don't really know where to begin this or how to begin this blog. I'm not sure if it's going to be about me solely, or a bit of me and how I see mental health while overseas. I guess I'll just see where the writing takes me.

Firstly, beginning of January 2018, I decided to take a huge leap of faith and sign up for a once in a life time experience of going away for a cultural exchange in Africa for three months. Now, in the moment, I'll admit I wasn't thinking of what this could entail, nor was I thinking about how I could get there. Because, in all honesty, I never thought I would make it this far; I truly didn't think I would be selected. Yet, here I am on my third week in Sierra Leone. Anyway, before this, I got an interview in London. The travel itself was enough for me to back out, but I prevailed and got though the anxiety I was having going through the underground. Stayed in a hostel, went to my interview, and in all fairness, it went well until the last five minutes where I completely bottled it. I had a panic attack mid-presentation, my hands were sweaty, my eyes were blurry, and I couldn't read or I couldn't speak. I felt sick and I was shaking like no one's business. But, instead of running out of the room, I stayed still. Powered through. And managed to get through it. Even though I thought everyone noticed, no one did.

I guess that's a good thing about having mental health issues for a long period of time, you find ways to hide it so people don't see.

So, as you now know, I got in.

I passed my medical exam with VSO, which again, I never thought I would, but I had a few things I had to do if I was to go—like more meetings to talk about how I'm coming, etc. Which I was more than happy to do. Then came pre-placement training. This was a blast. I got through it. I was fine. The injections—they were horrid, but every one of them I took in stride, knowing it would get me closer to this. Even if I hated needles, it was worth it. I smashed my fundraising target even though I had such anxiety thinking I wouldn't. I held charity events, made my own chocolate, went to get help from my church—you name it, I did it.

After all of this came the day I left. I sat in the train station, with my best friend's head on my lap, feeling her tears drip on me, and it finally hit me. That I was going. And to tell you I had a frog in my throat was an understatement, it felt like I had the whole damn pond in there. I made sure I didn't say goodbye properly to my family because I knew it would be hard. I gave her a hug and got on my train to London. For the whole journey it kinda felt like a dream. And so did the plane ride—none of it felt real, like I felt like someone would pinch me and I'd wake up. It wasn't a dream.

I aced my first plane ride, aced the trains through London alone, and stayed in a hotel without freaking out. I got to the airport and met my team. And off I went.

In country training was a blast—though it dragged and was probably the worst part of my trip so far, I managed to sit though the classrooms for a week, with the concentration of a goldfish. I got all my tasks done and even took part in activities which meant public speaking; as I've said this is a no-go for me.

For me, what helped was opening up a bit and explaining to my team leader some of my difficulties. I didn't say them all because I couldn't, but I gave her some examples which seemed to be helping as we speak. (Touch wood.)

Fast forward to now: Here I am in my host home with my five new brothers, two new sisters, a phenomenal host mum and dad, and I haven't felt more at home or at ease than I do right now. I can actually say I'm smashing this. That I'm actually doing it!

I've been on bikes, bargained with people who've tried to con me on the streets, got through being ill alone in a virgin country, done more training, drank water from a bag, ate weird and wonderful vegetarian foods—you name it, I've done it.

Now maybe this wouldn't work for some people. But I can honestly say, coming here has made my mental health better. It's made me stronger and happier in the short time I've been in Sierra Leone.

Month Two

It's been two months and I've had the best time. I've cried happy tears, I've taken my medication daily—yes, I've gotten sick. I've had malaria twice, but I am honestly so happy. Things couldn't be better for me.

My mental health is the best place possible. Who would of thought that coming to a country so far away from home that such a change would benefit me in such an astounding way?

Home Time

So now I'm at home, I've had the biggest culture shock of my life, I've cried that my mum has five face creams in the cupboard—who needs five face creams? Do we really need to have that much here?

I've been thinking deeply about my return to Sierra Leone and where the journey will take me next.

I appreciate all it has given me, and I can truly say I've fallen in love with Mama Salone.

I love all the people, all the trees, all the songs, and all the dancing. I'll be seeing you soon.

Ameno