I’m sick. Not in the colloquial ‘I’m-cool/amazing/youthful-enough-to-use-this term’ sense. In the traditional Oxford Dictionary definition sense.
- affected by physical or mental illness.
My brain is broken you see, it lies to me, it tries to get me to hurt myself. Sometimes it succeeds. In fact, my brain is not just sick but pretty fucking dangerous.
So, I’ve decided to pack up my life, sell everything I own and drive around Europe. During a global pandemic. Genius. Masked up, and considerably clueless as to what’s coming, I’m going to document how me and my broken-brain get along on this journey. Oh, and be really brutally fucking honest the whole time.
I haven’t left yet; I have 7 days until I go. 7 days to sell everything I own, empty my flat, pack 2 suitcases and 1 rucksack into my car and set off. Before I contemplate and muse on the next 7 days and beyond, let me tell you, briefly, what happened 7 days ago.
(TW: suicide) 7 days ago I tried to kill myself. Not the first time, might I add, but a pretty bad time. In that I took lethal amounts of paracetamol and had to be in hospital on some death-reversing drugs and observation for 28 hours. So yeah, I am straight up not living my best life here. So why not shake it up and hot-foot it around european countries solo…?
Anyway, on to the next 7 days and beyond. Currently all I’ve done is book a ferry to Spain for me and my car that’s departing 1 week today. To start I am going to be walking part of the Camino Frances, from Ponferrado to Santiago. Google maps tells me it’s just shy of 200km, then let’s see where I go from there.
I mean, why the fuck not, hey.