Echo #0 / 15th September 2018
Sleep had become easier to me over the past year. I didn’t know if it was a result of the stress, the medication I started roughly around this time last year, or a combination of both. Either way, I felt grateful. Sleep had been something of a myth to me – I did get experience it, but not consistently, nor was it restful. Nightmares, and at times, night terrors, often kept my conscious mind awake, and deep slumber only came once in a blue moon.
However, in the past year, everything changed. In addition to completing my last year of my undergraduate degree and wrapping up my final project, I prioritized my mental well-being. I dedicated myself to DBT sessions, completed their assigned homework, attended counselling, secured a part-time job to support myself, got into meditation, and began regularly going to the gym. With so many outlets and resources, I had been slowly confronting the demons of my past. Embarking on a journey towards improvement, healing and growth.
And with that, the nightmares began to fade away. Occasional ones still cropped up, but deep, peaceful slumber was becoming my best friend.
It wasn’t too surprising to find myself slumbering off during the journey of the day, my head resting on the car door, music blaring in my ears with the morning sun casting shadows on my face.
Hours later, my mind yawning to life, I groggily opened my eyes. Neck screaming, the bright daylight was the ultimate punishment as I awoke to the rushing roads of the motorway. My eyes gradually adjusted to the much brighter morning than just hours before, and I stretched my arms as much as I could within the confinements of the car.
A physical yawn quickly followed, and as I slowly crawled out of my sleepy daze, I heard a muffled sound amid the blaring music. I removed my earphones and shifted my focus to the driver.
“Have a nice nap?” Dad asked, his tone dripping with playful sarcasm. His grin, ever-present, never failed to remind me of that drugged up cat from Alice in Wonderland.
I offered him a faint smile before another yawn washed over me. “Yeah, it was alright thanks.”
Dad maintained his smile, but he rolled his eyes and focused on the motorways ahead. “Shouldn’t be too much longer. You think you can stay up long enough?”
“Dude, I gave you two options.” I scoffed playfully, shifting in my seat as it was starting to ache a little. “Either I sleep the majority of the way, or I throw up in your car.” I extended my hands in gesture, settling the debate.
Dad rolled his eyes once more, his remnants of a smile making me laugh, but neither of us said anything. We both knew I struggled with motion sickness, particularly on boats or ships. Even the smell of the seaside can could trigger me to feel ill or sometimes throw up.
I turned off my earphones and gazed out of the window. Various cars raced by, all eager to get to their destinations. My eyes drifted away from the motorways to the lines of trees at the fringes of the man-made world. Swaying in the September breeze, the sun was shining brightly today, causing the tree’s seasoning leaves sparkle. The clear blue sky seemed ready to engulf the entire world.
My eyes lost to the world’s natural scenery around me, while my mind embarked on a quest. Search for… something. Perhaps nerves, dread, fear, anything that could slap me with the reality of my destination – where I was headed.
Anything.
Yet, I found nothing.
Instead, a sense of calmness and even a hint of underlying excitement prevailed.
‘That’s good!’ The bright, positive voice within me chimed in as silent confusion swirled. ‘Isn’t it?’
I wasn’t sure if everyone experienced this or if it was simply a unique “Rose Thing”, but sometimes, I engaged in internal dialogues. No, it didn’t indicate any mental health disorder, it wasn’t anything dangerous. It was more like an angel and devil dynamic, although which was which often depended on the situation. Mentally, I referred to one as the bright voice, perpetually optimistic, and the other as the responsible voice, occasionally bordered on being critical.
It was during my mid-teens that the two voices, along with my own inner voice, began to surface. Looking back, it made sense in a strange way. It was around my mid-teens that I also discovered my love and talent for writing, and I suppose my imagination and creativity were always on after. These internal monologues not only provided a great source of inspiration for my stories but also entertained me when observing drama or other situations unfold.
As I’ve grown older, especially in the past year, the two voices have mellowed. They’re still there, primarily offering commentary, but it’s mostly just me with my own thoughts. Nowadays, my thoughts aren’t quite as loud either.
Moments like this, when I puzzled over my lack of negative feelings, made me appreciate my quirky, creative mind. In a way, it was nice to know I wasn’t alone in my thoughts.
“So…” Dad’s booming voice broke through my thoughts. “Nerves yet?”
Mentally, I cringed, but I fought to not have my face not to reflect that, which was a challenge. “Yeah, a bit.” I lied, hoping my tone conveyed the white lie. “Though, I think I’m more nervous for when uni starts.” That part was true. Introduction would kick off towards the end of the month, and I’d be meeting everyone on my postgraduate course.
Meeting new people? Not something I excelled at.
“Hmm…” Dad’s thoughtful hum, reminding me of when I was a child – a different version of myself – would say something that wasn’t a hundred percent honest, and Dad would know but wouldn’t call me out on it. “And that new job?”
“Start on Wednesday.” I muttered, my shoulders slumping down a bit as my eyes returned to the road. “Feeling good about that. Retail isn’t anything new to me.”
A momentary silence followed, Dad steering into a new lane and then back. “Heard from the family?”
Instantly, my shoulders tensed. It was a reflexive reaction, something I was trying to work on, but at this stage, it was unavoidable.
“Yeah,” I finally answered, doing my best to hide my discomfort while I remembered my last conversation with a family member. “Last night. They wished me good luck for today.” I released a long breath, my gaze drifting back to the nature outside.
I could feel Dad’s eyes briefly on me. “What?” He inquired, no longer concealing the fact that he sensed something was amiss.
I shook my head. “Nothing, it’s just…” Hesitation weighed on me. I didn’t want to fully express what – or what wasn’t – said, or how I felt. But I didn’t want to lie or gloss over it. “Do you think I can do this?” I snuck a glance at Dad, whose attention was fixed on the motorway. “Do you think I can build a life there? In York?”
Dad didn’t provide an immediate answer, and my heart sank. It wasn’t fair. While I understood he needed time to consider his answer, his hesitation still stung.
“It’s not permanent,” Dad finally concluded. “You never know, you might not even like York, and if so, you can always come back.”
I grasped the intention behind his words. He was attempting to reassure me, trying not to add more pressure that he believed I was placing on myself. The rational, responsible side of me understood that but…I don’t want to come back, I thought sadly.
Looking back out the window, I felt a slight crushing of my spirit. Insecurities roaring to the surface as my mind replayed the phone conversation the night before alongside my father’s words. While neither party outright said I couldn’t do it, the tones and implications told a different story. And with that, they poked and prodded my insecurities, until I felt the familiar rush of anxiety tingle through me.
‘Nope’, the responsible voice slapped me. ‘Nope. You are not going to have a freaking anxiety attack in front of Dad!’
Forcing my eyes shut, I focused on my breathing. In. Out. In. Out. DBT teachings came back to me, with the instructor giving us a meditation roadmap. To create an image. A place in your mind where you would feel safe.
Behind the darkness of my closed eyelids, the greenest grass emerged, perfectly trimmed, bathed in the summer’s sunlight. A tall tree stood at the centre, at the centre, towering over the smaller trees nearby. As the familiar scene continued to take shape, I heard a gentle flow of a distant stream, hidden away with access only through the bushes up ahead…
The anxiety faded, and I opened my eyes, the serene mental imagery giving way to the sight of sparse nature and the passing motorways. A tiny smile graced my face as I sat up a bit straighter.
“I think I can,” I muttered, my gaze fixed outside. “I know I can.”
“Uh huh.” Dad let out; his tone a familiar one. I had heard it from many people too many times.
Taking a moment, I grinned and squared my shoulders defiantly.
“Well, you know what they say Dad.” I began, my voice carrying a rare sense of optimism and confidence as I turned my head toward him. “First York, then New York!”
Dad responded with a sound that was a mixture of a heavy sigh and a light chuckle, accompanied with an eye roll. I couldn’t help but let out the natural laugh at that, and the atmosphere lightened once more.
The car journey continued, progressing toward York, which would become not only my home for the next year but also for the next four years. It was a home that would grant me lifelong friends, bolster my courage and give lessons in independence.
At the time of the car journey, all of this remained unknown to me. I was venturing into the uncertain. However, like those ancient fantasy prophecies or great ironies of life, I had jokingly foretold my future.
“First York, then New York!”