The day before I left for Florida, I admitted to my therapist, and even more so to myself, that I am very afraid of flying. I'm not sure why I am or when I started forming this fear, especially since when I was a little girl, flying was my favorite part of every trip. All I know is that now flying gives me a lot of anxiety, and no matter what I do, the fear only gets worse. No amount of plane science, common sense, statistics, sleeping pills, anti-anxiety pills, or therapy will probably cure this fear of mine, which makes it that much worse. 

Still, I refuse to let my irrational fear get in the way of living my life. The world is a crazy place, and I love to explore it! So, I packed up my bags and headed off to the airport anyway, even though I was already chewing my nails in the car on the way there. 

My mom let me go through the airport on my own as soon as we checked in our bags, so I didn't feel much pressure from her (or anyone for that matter). The airport was basically empty, so getting through TSA and to my gate was very easy. I could stall the whole way through. I didn't rush with unpacking my electronics or taking off my boots, hoodie, and hat, which meant I didn't miss anything and could get through quickly and easily. And once everything was cleared, I had a nice conversation with a helpful TSA agent about where to find my plane gate.

I actually had over two hours to kill once I found the gate, so for those two hours, I roamed around the airport, grazing on some food and checking out a few of the shops. Those two hours seemed to go by a lot faster than expected, mostly because I was increasingly anxious about getting on the plane, and anticipation anxiety is really good at speeding up time. 

My mom and little brother couldn't help but tease me for being afraid of flying. In our family, teasing is just how we show affection towards each other, which may or may not be healthy. I snapped back at my mom and little brother, and let them know that once we got to our destination, I'd find something to tease them with. After all, Florida is the reptile capital of the United States, and my mom and little brother are both afraid of things that slither and bite. I was pretty confident I'd eventually find something scaly and bitey to chase them around with. I just had to survive my flight to Florida, which, in my anxious mind at the time, seemed iffy. 

I was flying on Southwest, which meant I could choose any seat that I wanted. After groups A and B boarded the plane, my group was called. My heart thundered faster and faster the closer I got to the plane. The line stopped moving just as I stepped onto the plane, and I took that time to shake hands with one of the pilots who was talking to a flight attendant. He was kind, and seemed like he knew how to fly a plane, although the flight attendant he was talking to seemed pretty new to the job. 

I made my way towards the back of the plane, because almost every seat ahead of and on the wings was full, so I ended up sitting on a middle seat in the very last row, in between two very large and muscular guys. I was just small enough to not have to worry so much about personal space, but I was still very uncomfortable because I didn't have any room to stretch or move around much without elbowing someone. I quietly pulled out a book called Meat Eater: Adventures from the Life of an American Hunter by Steven Rinella, listened to some music, and did my best to distract myself. Perhaps I'd forget that I was on a plane, and could get to Tampa without having to suppress a major panic attack mid-flight. 

About 15 minutes after I sat down in my seat, the engines fired up to full power, and within seconds, the plane was headed into the sky. I made sure to buy several packs of very strong mint gum at the airport, so I stuffed a few sticks of that into my cheeks, and used the tingling taste of mint to further distract myself. The plane almost seemed like it was struggling to reach cruising altitude because of how turbulent it was. In fact, to my dismay, the entire 3 hour flight was severely turbulent due to a major storm system that extended from far eastern Colorado to Orlando. Our complementary drinks and snacks were almost canceled due to the turbulence, but thankfully, our pilots found a stretch of smooth air for the flight attendants to take advantage of. 

I could sense that I wasn't the only nervous flyer on my flight. In fact, both guys sitting on either side of me had their Southwest apps open on their phones, and were anxiously refreshing the app to see our updated location on the map every few seconds. I forced myself to look away from their apps and tried to focus on reading Steven Rinella's ram hunting story instead, hoping that time would go by a lot quicker if I ignored it. Although, I must admit, I was very tempted to open up my own Southwest app and drain the battery by tapping the refresh icon every three seconds. 

I'm not sure how much time passed when the pilot's voice came over the intercom, nearly startling me out of my seat. 

"We're about 100 miles from the Tampa airport. Uh, unfortunately we can't get in right now because there is a heavy thunderstorm in the area, and it would be very unsafe for us if we attempted to land right now. For now, we will just have to circle around where we are and wait for the storm to pass, which should be fairly soon. In the meantime, I'll just keep the seat belt sign on because there is a lot of turbulence around here. So sit back, relax, and enjoy the rest of the flight to Tampa."

I figured that was a great time to crack open my Mountain Dew, so that I'd be fully awake and ready to get off that damn plane if, I mean, when it landed. I knew I had to carry at least 120 pounds worth in luggage through the airport and to our rental car, which was waiting for us at Enterprise. I'd never been to the Tampa airport, so I had no idea what to expect or how long it'd take us to get from the luggage carousel to our rental car. I just wanted enough adrenaline in my system so I could muster the unnatural strength I'd need to get everything to our rental car. 

I probably shouldn't have drunk as much Mountain Dew as I did on that plane. While we made our final decent, we hit some pretty nasty air that rocked the plane side-to-side like nothing I'd ever experienced. Not only was I freaking out inside and had about 10 ounces of Mountain Dew pumping through my system that made my anxiety worse, but the guy sitting to the right of me was just as afraid. I had a white-knuckled grip on the armrest, and a death grip on my book, and the guy sitting to my right pinned my wrist to the armrest and squeezed it as hard as he could when we hit a particularly bad spot of turbulence. Keep in mind, the dude sitting next to me was at least three times my size and made of mostly muscle, so he had one hell of a grip and I'm just glad I have strong bones. Otherwise...

As soon as we got below the clouds, the plane stopped rocking so violently, and the guy let go of me, apologizing profusely for almost shattering my wrist with his involuntary iron death grip. I accepted his apology, even though I didn't even notice him. I was too busy reflecting back on all the things I've been through in life up until that point, and for a few seconds, accepted that it would all come to an end in a fiery explosion somewhere in western Florida. 

Fortunately, that did not happen. Instead, we had a rough landing, but the pilots managed to keep the plane from hydroplaning off the runway, and smoothly taxied to our gate. While the plane gently bounced over the asphalt on the way to the gate, a flight attendant got on the intercom and tried to make some witty joke about the rough ride, but nobody laughed. So, in an attempt to kill the awkwardness, the flight attendant went on a tangent about his four college-aged daughters, and bragged about how they were very smart and majoring in all sorts of smart sciency stuff in their pretentious universities. To be honest, that only made it much worse, and I think he eventually realized that and finally shut up. The only people who were slightly amused by him were all of the old people on the plane, which outnumbered people younger than 50 years old about 3 to 1. 

Needless to say, I never wanted off a plane so badly before. As soon as the aisle was clear (which took about a half hour), I bolted out of my seat and charged towards the exit to freedom! Only, as soon as I got onto the jet bridge, I began choking on the hot, humid air. That didn't stop me, however. I powered through it, and caught up to my mom and little brother halfway through the terminal. 

Getting our luggage was another grueling adventure I was not looking forward to. I was exhausted, but at the same time, adrenalized to the point I couldn't stand still. Turns out, I needed that extra dose of adrenaline my 20 ounce bottle of Mountain Dew gave me. When our bags finally appeared on the carousel, the heaviest of them appeared right next to each other. My vest bag weighed about 65 pounds, and my medicine bag weighed about 70 pounds. I didn't want to let either bag get away from me, so I grabbed them both at the same time, and somehow manged to deadlift them off the carousel and onto the ground at once. How I did it, I'm not entirely sure. It must be all of that wild game, Mountain Dew, and anxiety in my system. 

Our other bags weren't nearly as heavy as my medical equipment, and I was surprised by just how light they all felt! Of course, because I am bigger and stronger than my mom and little brother combined, I was tasked with carrying the biggest bags to our rental car. I slipped my old vest bag across my shoulders, careful not to crush my carry-on backpack so I wouldn't destroy all of my electronics. Then, I dragged my medicine suitcase behind me with one hand, and my clothes suitcase with the other. In all, I was lugging about 160 pounds worth in stuff like a pack mule. Thankfully, most of that weight was on wheels. But still, that was not easy at all. 

After walking the length of the airport, and riding on a train crowded with nosy old people who asked if I was from Boston because I was wearing my hat I got from Boston, we finally made it to the rental car place. Only, they didn't have any cars available. So, my mom instead got us a huge pickup truck. The woman who led us over to our truck and handed my mom the keys was not taller than 4 foot 11, and struggled to lift my 20 pound clothes suitcase into the back of the pickup. So, yours truly had to toss everything into the back of the pickup without help, using a bale-tossing technique I learned while volunteering at horse rescues for so many years. 

We still had a long drive ahead of us, and my fuse was shorter than ever. My mom only dared to ask me one question about how to work the truck, and I about lost it. Through clenched teeth, I showed her how to work the windshield wipers and helped her connect her phone to the truck's built-in Bluetooth. I also had to explain to her that opening up the windows only let in more hot air and humidity which would fog up the windows, which upset her because she was cold, but I was already soaked in sweat from carrying all of our stuff. We finally compromised. I could have the AC on, I just couldn't blast it, and my mom closed all of the vents on her side. It wasn't long before the topic of dinner came up, and within five minutes, we'd pulled into a Burger King. I didn't know that I was hungry, and told my mom that I didn't want anything. But she knew better. 

After another 45 minutes of driving in a heavy storm and two wrong turns, we finally arrived at our Airbnb in Hudson, Florida. It was a three-story concrete structure on stilts, built along the saltwater canals just a few houses away from the wide open Gulf of Mexico. It was unfortunately too dark outside to really see much beyond what the street and canal lights lit up, but I could taste the salt in the air, so I knew we were close to the ocean. 

As much as I wanted to just get into the house and sleep, I still had to get all of our luggage inside before I could relax. I could hear thunder not too far away, and didn't want our bags to come in soaked. So, while my mom and little brother explored the house and sat down to eat their meals, I unloaded the truck by myself in the dark, while the wind picked up drastically ahead of the approaching storm, choking me with sand. Then, just as I had the last two bags in my hands, the heavens opened up above me and instantly soaked me to the bone. 

I finally got to relax, but I was completely drenched in rain and sweat, had itchy salt crystals all over my skin, and sand in my hair. My little brother, who usually loves to antagonize me further when I get upset, left the kitchen in fear the second he noticed me prowl in, and my mom simply pointed to the bag that had my share of food. I don't usually eat processed burgers from Burger King, but I hadn't had a decent-sized meal for almost two days by then, so I didn't hesitate to unhinge my jaws and inhale five double-stack bacon burgers in less than 15 minutes. I knew I'd regret that later, but I needed to eat something, anything, to lift my mood a little. 

Unfortunately, I still had work to do. The entire third floor was its own bedroom, and because we were expecting more people to arrive in the next few days, my mom told me I ought to claim the third floor before anyone else did, because that was the only place I could get some actual peace and quiet while our friends stayed with us. So, once again, I mustered up the strength to carry all of my luggage up three stories of stairs. Unfortunately, I didn't have enough energy to make it all the way up at once. I rested at a landing, and over the next several minutes, took one bag at a time the rest of the way. 

A bed never felt more comfortable before. As soon as I got all of my bags upstairs, I turned off all of the lights and laid down in the king-sized bed. I was out for the night, and for most of the next morning. I actually only woke up at noon to take a handful of pills, and then passed out again until about 4 in the afternoon.