The plane had just arrived in New York at John F. Kennedy airport. Following my arrival, my eardrums began rupturing to a maximum extent. What was more painful than this? Maybe, being "mentally" and "physically" forced by my bossy mother, to leave my small hometown in Afton located in Lincoln County. The state of Wyoming, couldn't have been a better home to me, for the last seventeen years, as my "antisocialness" agreed with me as well. Wyoming didn’t have many people, as my life was pretty peaceful.
I wasn't familiar with New York City, but I knew it had a major problem. That problem — was the fact that it had too many people! Nothing is perfect in life, but Wyoming was the perfect home for me. People, and I are like oil and water, as the combination made no sense whatsoever, that is. Well, my controlling mother disagreed, as she wanted me to head to New York City to start my first year of college at Columbia University. She's always so manipulative. She wanted me to study art & literature. Painting is the only thing that made me accept myself, as it allowed me to express myself while being myself. However, school is not needed to express yourself, as school makes it more difficult to express yourself, by bringing you into a fucked up society with kids who are there to give you nothing but mental health problems, while the school faculty doesn’t give a bloody shit about anything, except a direct deposit in their bank account.
School was never the plan at all. The plan was to hopefully make a living from my paintings, to run away from reality, so that I can escape this horrible world and create my own. Honestly, me completing high school was a shocker, to myself that is. It teaches me nothing, as my time is wasted for 8 hours a day, 5 days a week. Not to mention the unwanted anxiety and depression that school has provided to me. A piece of paper with my name on it (high school diploma), didn't excite me, you can say. So college didn't exactly put the "cherry on top of my sundae" as nothing was sweet about me being kicked out of my hometown by my mother, leaving me in the rocky roads of oblivion. My mother thought New York City was the place for (her) dreams to be pursued. She must've thought it would inspire me, as my desire to do anything with my life disappeared. My depression kept dragging me down, while my fear of attempting suicide, unfortunately brought me up (mid-level). So, I was just existing being someone’s ragdoll, while paying the price of having bad mental health. It sure as hell costed a lot!
From the small state of Wyoming, to the big red apple. It was a lot to take in, that is.
Let's talk more about that plane landing. Upon arriving in New York, popping my ear pressure seemed like a difficult task at first. But no worries, as working smarter and not harder, came into mind! The airport conveniently had a Starbucks (my favorite coffee shop), while I thought they were closing a few down in the U.S. This high level of convenience made my plan to unblock my ears much easier, as gulping down an iced mocha frappuccino, would do the trick in no time! No gum was needed, as in minutes my ears felt brand new. Gulping down mocha frappuccinos, was something that I've been doing forever, that is. Why not put it to use?
After devouring my little treat, I used the energy from my mocha frappuccino (working smart) to trick myself mentally, into manifesting the confidence to ask a stranger (cab driver) to drop me off at Columbia University as I needed to settle in. Taking anything from home, other than my blue sweater that my father had knitted for me, before he passed away due to COVID-19, wasn’t necessary. My mother gave me her credit card to get room supplies and whatever I needed, as shopping was another task to do after examining my approved single bedroom at the dorm. My phone had died, so an Uber or Lyft couldn't happen unfortunately.
The car ride was bad as I expected — while seeing more people in person than I could have ever imagined, in literally seconds!
The word "noise", and Manhattan had to be twins, as New York City was the city of gossip, apparently. People, there's so many people! There's more than too many people. My Zyxprexa (medication) was in my purse, making a home for itself at the bottom underneath my pads. Luckily, a mini bottle of water came just in handy as it popped out of nowhere. Taking my medication right then and there, in the back of the taxi, sounded like a good plan to continue my treatment. It's a shame that I haven't had it for the past 2 weeks, but hey it's a new beginning right?
Even though looking at people gave me anxiety. I just couldn't stop looking at the people outside of my cab window! For instance, imagine a monster walking towards you. Several people in that situation would pretty much get the hell out of........wherever they are. Right? Well me, I'd just have to have a "staring contest” with the nice ferocious beast, as my awkwardness freezes me at times. Upon my views from the "city of gossip", my paranoia got the best of me. Or the worst, that is.
I've always felt like people talked about me, but that car ride was one I'd never forget. I couldn't stop looking, as my mind was controlling me. The city of nightmares, that is. These people looked fishy, as if they were talking about me. Seeing their mouths moved, while laughter was being shared amongst people, brought my mental state into a disaster. Are they laughing at me? Are they gossipping about me?
Did they see me, see them? Of course not! Oh god! My mind was in for a ride, a thriller that is. A horror maybe? Both! Yes, you can say both, that is.
Why were they (New Yorkers) walking so fast, I thought? Possibly the rats, as a rat apocalypse was everywhere! My anxiety kicked in, as my delusional thoughts took me on a wild ride, in the back of a wild ride. What the hell was going on here?
The cab driver enjoyed himself, as he looked calm, like a hippie. He did smell like one, as I kind of liked it, in a way that is. The university was getting closer. With less than 10 minutes left, as a new chapter in my life was pending, how was I gonna cope with spending my time — trying to make time — to cope with my mental health?
To Be Continued……………………………………..