This story begins on the city streets of Madison Wisconsin. I had just spent the weekend back home with my lovely girlfriend at her high school homecoming (She’s a year younger than me). High on good vibes and happily listening to stand-up comedy with my dad in the car, I don’t think anything can go wrong.
Well, the second we pulled up to the bus stop any hope of preserving happiness faded. The bus was my ticket back to my college, U.W. Stout. Which is a fine college don’t get me wrong, but it was roughly a three-and-a-half-hour drive from home. I also didn’t have my car up there with me, so I would be stranded. The bus came and went every weekend but round trip tickets were a little more than a hundred dollars. That was not something I could cough up every weekend.
I held my suitcase and looked up at my dad with puppy eyes. I actually pleaded not to go back. For a little bit of context, I had been struggling with horrific depression, and being alone in a dorm miles and miles away did not do me any favors.
My father looked down at me and with all his stoic-ness, held back sadness and worry and said: “Get on the bus”. He then forced himself to walk back to the car before he changed his mind. My father knew I was struggling when I was away from home but we had both already put so much money into sending me away, I understand why he walked away. I had to go to school to get stuff done. So I swallowed my nerves, handed the bus driver my bag, and got on the bus.
The bus was a double-decker, which was super fancy to me. I sat in a very roomy seat kind of like a booth at a restaurant. I had also taken Dramamine to combat my car sickness, even though I never had any issues on buses. Unfortunately, there was no pill powerful enough to combat the gargantuan strength of my anxiety.
The second we started moving it hit me like… well like a bus. We hadn’t even left the first block, I don’t even think we took a turn yet before I ran to the bathroom. Now there are two very important details of this story that you must know. The first is that the bus is full of phone-wielding, judgemental, social media-using, college students with perfectly working ears. The second is that the bathroom was not anywhere close to soundproof. So all of my anxiety gathers in my stomach then pushes its way back out in the form of vomit, and lots of it. I begin violently throwing up in this tiny bus toilet, multiple times. Eventually, I try to regain my composure, wipe my face off, and return to my seat.
I was seated for oh I don’t know, maybe two minutes before I’m back in the bathroom, puking my guts out. This continues for five or six more times. I throw up then I sit down then I throw up again.
Now, I’m not proud of this next part of the story but at some point, I’m stranded in the bathroom; I have thrown up every ounce of food in my belly, and I am now worried I’m going to start throwing up vital organs. I’m delirious, sad, and not thinking straight, so what do I do? I hit the emergency stop button, the thing that you are never ever supposed to do. It pained me to press it, but I was out of options. Now it may have been my vomiting delusions but for some reason I expected the bus to come to a complete halt in the middle of the highway the second I pushed the button. So what do I do? I begin pushing the button over and over again.
Eventually, the bus comes to a stop and the driver finds me in the bathroom. I get to my feet and ask to be let off the bus. Now I am doing the walk of shame off the bus and I’m certain the kids on the upper deck have no idea what’s going on. The bus driver gives me my bag and asks if I have a way to get home. I just tell him to leave and walk slowly over to the rest stop he stopped at.
Before I call my dad to come get me, I start crying my eyes out. Like, have you ever cried so hard you think you’re gonna pass out because you can’t get enough air? Yeah, it was kinda like that. Eventually, I called my dad and had to wait two hours for him to come get me.
The upside is I kinda liked being alone at the rest stop for a while. It was well kept and there was a vending machine. When people did come in they were polite, so it wasn’t all bad.
I guess the moral of the story is to know your limits. I figured mine out pretty quickly that day and now I attend a college much closer to home.
I really hope you enjoyed reading this week’s post as much as I enjoyed writing it. Thank you for taking the time out of your day to read what I have to say.
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