I hear the hum of the aircraft, still ringing in my ears,

The roar of the car barely hides the rumble of my fears.

Back home now to safety. Duvet pulled up, I’m smothered,

My silent melancholy, proved not so thoroughly covered.  

Couldn’t hide my sad today; my worried or my mad,

Travelling an onslaught of crap that made me bad.

Mental health ground down; recovery is halted,

“No more please” the mother pleads, my wound is already salted.

Crowed places, empty spaces, 

Echoey noises, un-tied trainer laces.

Security officials wield their power, 

Don’t order me, making innocent travellers cower. 

No duty free, and what a poor rate of exchange,

I’d do anything to be un-ill, and make my life improve and fucking change.

No more triggers. No more PTS and chuffing D,

Scratch off veneer facades, like an onion ‘peel me”.

Don’t prod me & don’t you dare stare,

No more photo flashes or tugging of my hair. 

Scream goes the girl. Scream goes the boy.

Adults play around like the child is their toy. 

Arrived at trauma central. No suprises why. 

Went through the place where unknown children fucking died. 

Never again. That was my last waltz there.

Found myself a partner for life, as for you, “I don’t bloody care.”

Caring hurts, threatened anxiety alerts,

Seasoned travelling survivor bravely asserts….

…herself against an unfair world,

Rollers in, nora batty tights, shiny hair sprayed and curled.

Home now. Anger simmers.

Calm emerges. Hope glimmers.

Happy. Sad. Mad. Bad.

Back then when this daughter still had her Dad.


This was a quick poem processing my horrible journey back from France, via Manchester airport. I’m going to commence hiding now. I feel awful. I’m so relieved to be home. I don’t want to travel again. I question if the psychological disruption is worth it πŸ˜”πŸ˜”πŸ˜” 

I’ll treasure the amazing memories though.




3 thoughts on “POST-TRAVEL HUM

  1. BelleUnruh says:

    Yes, travel is hard for people with triggers. I’m glad you had some good days and good memories.

    In the doctor’s office this week, sweat poured down my face and back. I had a panic attack in an airport in Los Angeles and we had to take a train home. Oh well, I’d always wanted to experience train travel. It is lovely, but cramped. My poor husband shelling out more money because everything terrifies me.

    Every time we went to Disneyland with the kids, I’d act crazy. I grew up near there. I’d say to my husband, “I’m never coming back here again.” But we did.

    Im afraid to go to that wedding in Vegas. Afraid of flying, nasty security people, tons of people everywhere in Vegas. But it is my sister’s wedding and I really want to go. My daughter is going with me and I’m taking Ativan. So, I hope all goes well.

    There should be a club for people called, “The Trigger-Happy Travelers.” We could all travel together.

    Liked by 1 person

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