Fear

Into the Wilderness: Story 3, Catina

I’m not afraid of much. I was afraid when I first stepped out onto the uneven terrain and unfamiliar territory of the southern mountains.

I was still in shock. All I could think was that this wasn’t real: my parents were trying to scare me. They would take me out. I knew they would. But they didn’t.

I thought I was a tough person. No one was going to see me cry.

I tried memorizing the twists of the winding road to my drop-off spot, but I couldn’t. Cars make me sleepy, and after my last meal of burgers, sleep took me over. When I was dropped off, there was hiking to do, down the slopes to my first camp spot. In the wilderness, at first almost everything looks the same, but you start to recognize things such as camp sites you’ve been to before.

When you first enter wilderness, you go through an orientation phase. You get a mentor and a staff person to sit by. You’re on “5 foot,” which means you cannot be more than 5 feet away from staff at all times. You can’t talk to anyone, and all you can do is sit and fill out a packet of work. Now, the only reason “5 foot” is a thing is because you have to adjust to being there. They have to see what type of person you are: Are you going to run or self harm or fight?

At first, you’re scared. You’re in the middle of nowhere, weird bugs crawl everywhere, and you poop in a hole. Anyone, even a full grown adult, would be scared.

I cried the first night. I was too afraid to ask for help. I didn’t eat. I slept under a tarp, a tightly wrapped burrito between two staff. I couldn’t sleep, fearing a spider would crawl in my sleeping bag or poisonous, furry caterpillars on my stomach. Georgia has rattle snakes and weird bugs and huge mosquitoes.

And that was my first day.

But as each month passed, I was less afraid. I would pick up bugs by their legs and even pet them too. I never touched the caterpillars: they are cute, but give you a rash like you’d never believe. I had tics in the weirdest spots: on my belly button and under my eye.

You might want to pity me. I don’t want you to. I loved it. There’s a selfishness to being there. You just want to have the freeing feeling of breathing in pure oxygen and hiking up those hills. It’s what you want, and no one can take that from you.

At first, everything is scary. Going to school the first day. The first day of high school. First day of a new job. You may have to dig deep into yourself to find that you are scared. Or you may not have to- it may be right on the surface. But that’s not what matters. It’s that everyone is the same: we all have fears. I’m not afraid of heights or the dark or bugs or snakes or holes or tight spaces. That’s not what I’m afraid of. But I still have things that make me shiver and my heart tremble. Make my brain foggy and my eyes blurry. I still have those things, and you do too. Everyone does.