Why I didn't talk about Seattle.

It's a hard topic for me. It still feels so unreal. I haven't wanted to talk about it, because it truly was very scary and a part of me died there... But, in return, a new part of me was born.

I've not looked through my photos of the trip at all. I've glanced at them, sure. But 9 months later, and there is still an uneasy feeling when I look at them.

A lot of it is guilt, I suppose. We have an expectation to enjoy a trip, but to be truthful, I didn't enjoy it one bit. I suffered the entire time. Yet, I don't think the trip was a mistake. Somehow, I think it had to happen, in order to make me feel like I could do...anything.

So... This is what happened. I made a pretty reckless impulse decision to travel alone to Seattle, while I was in the middle of a very serious (not at all contagious) illness, because I was convinced I was going to die. I just wanted one last experience in life, that wasn't just lying in bed or being at the hospital.

I met a girl that I didn't even like, but I saw her as my ticket to freedom. And so, I sort of just randomly bought a plane ticket and booked a hotel and planned to go and meet her there. 

I was alone. I was terrified. The realization hit me as I boarded the plane. It was so bad that a hostess comforted me and checked on me the entire flight, even though I'm not scared of flying. I was just scared of what I was doing.

Back then, I relied on a wheelchair for a lot of walking. I didn't have one. That was a massive mistake. It was a miracle that I made it out of the massive airport, and to my hotel.

Then, the most agonizing days of my life. My body was in excruciating pain, I was weak, dizzy, and I was ready to dial for an ambulance the entire time. I remember calling my parents sobbing and apologizing for what I'd done. I even called that girl and sobbed over the phone. It was embarassing. 

I was glued to my bed until the afternoon, when I finally told myself that I refused to die in a bed without achieving what I had come here for. I used every last ounce of my life energy to drag myself down to the parking lot. I called an Uber, and had him drive me to downtown Seattle to see that girl.

And, I did. Every step felt like it was my last one. I saw her and talked to her for 5 minutes, before calling another uber to take me back to my hotel. And I never spoke to her again. It was the hardest thing I have ever had to do in my entire fucking life, but I realized that my body was a lot stronger than I gave it credit for. 

I was back at the hotel, and I was still alive. And so, I waited a few more hours and took a second ride into downtown at night. I took blurry photos from the window. I remember how comforted yet sad I felt when the driver asked me where I wanted to go, and I said, "Just drive me around. I can't walk, I just want to see the lights." He would ask me every so often if I wanted him to park so I could take a photo. He was very kind.

The next day, I had to drag myself to the airport once again. But this time, I knew I would not be able to make the walk. It was a very scary and humiliating feeling, once I arrived. I took a couple of steps off of the bus, and then collapsed. I dialed for help, but the man on the line had a heavy accent I couldn't understand.

I just felt... Like a failure. Like a burden. Like an idiot. I wanted, so badly, for my mom to just magically appear and save me.

I was quite literally just sitting on the floor outside of the airport, sobbing my eyes out, because my legs had finally given out, and I couldn't do anything about it.

...until someone helped me. And you know, maybe this influenced my decision to become a pilot... There was a pilot who saw me, and he went to call a wheelchair for me. He brought help to me, and he was so kind and compassionate to me. I think I'm always going to remember that.

From there, the staff helped me get through TSA and wheeled me around to get food, water, and to my waiting area. They even arranged for another wheelchair to be ready for me at the other airport. 

I was so relieved to be finally getting on the flight home. Once we arrived, sure enough, I was wheeled through the airport and outside... Where my family was waiting for me. And I have never felt more relieved, I have never loved my family more, than I ever have in that moment.

Not wanting to ruin the moment, I didn't make them take me to the hospital. We got home, I ate delicious chicken soup, and spent the next several days lying in bed in the most excruciating pain I have ever felt in my life.

It felt like every bone in my body was being crushed and pulled apart. I was extremely weak, and anxious, and I cried a whole lot. 

Everyone was smiling and patting me on the back telling me they were proud of me and wanted to hear all about my trip. It felt sickening to have to tell them that, well, there really was nothing enjoyable about it at all.

I just kept saying, "It was fun!" so not to disappoint them.

But in the end, I took one very important lesson away from this all... And that is, that despite everything, I am a whole lot stronger than I give myself credit for. And if I could do all that and live... Then I can do anything.