My Bubble

My Bubble is about 36 miles. That’s the limit of my travel.

Before I was 20 I’d lived in a different country, lived in 3 different states, and was (mostly) an adventurous person. I played paintball regularly with my friends, I hung out with my friends almost every night and had friends. As I got older I retreated into anxiety and depression. I didn’t know it at the time of course but it was just easier and consumed less energy. Friends I had slipped away and my Bubble grew smaller and smaller.

I love the idea of travel, but its execution scares the hell out of me. I obsess over planning from everything to the route, gas stops, camping stops, even going so far as to look at every place I plan to stop at on Google Maps to get the layout of the parking lots and the best way to get out of the parking lots. It’s exhausting. So exhausting that it’s kept me from traveling and so my Bubble got even smaller.

Now my Bubble is suffocating me.



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