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I write this in the present tense, as the trauma is timeless, and raw.
I am at my sister's house in Izmir, a beautiful port city on the Aegean coast, in Turkey, where I used to live as a young woman.
I arrived here from England three days ago on 13 March, staying alone, and seeing my sisters from a distance. Seeing the atmosphere getting heated, I reschedule my flight, and plan to fly back to the UK after three days, cutting my two-week spring break short, to get back sooner.
I was due to fly at 10:30 a.m. on 17 March. I am already on high alert, and unsettled, fearing being stranded, feeling unsafe.
On 17 March, I wake up at 2 a.m. from my light sleep, immediately checking my phone, and see that my flight has been cancelled with such short notice following the decision of the government to shut the borders. I shake with fear at being stranded. My heart beats fast as I try to steady my nerves. I am thinking I have to act quickly. I have to move. In the face of fear, my adrenaline is released and my fight response comes to my rescue. My fight response facilitates immediate action whilst all my unnecessary bodily needs shut down. I can't collapse, I have to hold it together. I am in survival mode.
The increased resilience with the years of therapy work allows me to think, and I pack quickly calling the taxi to come sooner than planned, arriving at an empty airport at 3:30 a.m. frantically searching if any flights are available to take me back to the UK. I am determined to get back, in any way, even if it means taking buses, trains, or car hire. I am so determined with only one focus and target in mind, that I have to make it home. I am feeling the experiences of people fleeing their countries, the refugees, this is how it must feel like.
Eventually, I manage to get a flight to Istanbul, then after being exposed to airports, uncertain whether I will be able to fly at all with a couple of hours before it's due, I am finally being taken back on a British Airways flight to Heat