Post by Candice Woodcock on Jul 29, 2013 1:02:54 GMT -5
Final copy, not my best work.
The feeling of stepping off the Island of Sausage was one of relief. The musky smell of deceit, manipulation, and roasted pig was far behind me, along with the seventeen others I've been trapped with for the past two and a half months. I looked forward to the life I was living before, one that consisted of family, friends, work, and real relationships that weren't simply for a cash prize.
When the plane landed, the comfort of familiarity swept over me, and the tension quickly left my body. The open arms I was welcomed with at home seemed like the perfect beginning to a new era of my life. My pride that was shaken by the likes of a succubus, a judgmental religious man, and young boy was securing as a result of the various praise I received from my loved ones, and it was a sure thing that the experience would be something I would look back on and appreciate. The lessons I learned about life itself and the levels others would stoop for a reward was eye-opening, and would only teach me about the morality of some people.
Days flew by, and the euphoric feeling of again living a pleasant lifestyle faded, and things began to draw back into normalcy. I returned to work, returned to my apartment, and the way of life before Sausage Island. I reconnected with my friends, spending most of my free time discussing the experience and the people I shared it with. Some sympathized with learning about the freak shows I was forced to live with, while others simply found it humorous. I chose not to have an opinion, and move on without involving myself too deeply in what is now in the past. There was nothing I wanted less than to regret things I couldn't change.
Although the first week was more than a successful time of reverting back to the norm, my emotional stability took a complete 180 during the simple errand of going grocery shopping. While in the meat aisle, I began to smell something, something that caused my mind to race back to the first step I took onto Sausage Island. The vivid memory of that small action caused me nearly lose all control over my physical self, as if astral projecting to the past. The strong resurgence of my spirit I felt charging back through my body caused me to take a few steps back. I had no idea what caused me to have such a strong reaction, until I saw the package of frozen sausage merely a foot away from me. I returned back into a state of being outside myself, this time to my first tribal council. The strong nerves and anxiousness I felt at that time overran my body, causing me to instinctively get as far away from the uncooked sausage as possible. As my heart rate began to settle and mind stopped racing, I felt it was best to simply return home and try to avoid something like that happening again.
I kept that strange experience secret from those around me, since I didn't want them to worry about what mental state I was in. I made sure to keep as far away from any sausage, or any form of cooked pig, in hopes to never have something like that happen again. But it wasn't far after that I realized this wasn't the only side effect from the traumatic experience that was Sausage Island. I began initiating competitions out of simple everyday tasks. I started challenging my mother to who could cook dinner fastest, and finding it necessary to race anybody who is going to the same place I am. I started excessively getting tickets from drag racing any vehicle that would pull up to next to me at a stoplight.
My psychological issues surfaced to those around me when an uncle of mine, Uncle John, attended a family party. Hearing the name "John" spoken by relatives of mine started making my mind run a mile a minute. I suddenly found myself back in the thick of Sausage Island, watching an angry John Carroll berate me in front of all the others. The countless times I was called an idiot and fool began to materialize in my mind, causing myself to question not only my sanity, but my intelligence. When I found myself back into my present body, I was on the floor, with my family surrounding my once soulless self. I began panicking from the stress of being the focus of everybody's attention, and didn't no what else to do than escape the house as quickly as possible and go somewhere where I could be alone with my thoughts.
I spent the next several days alone in my apartment, trying to avoid hearing the names of anyone I spent any time with on the island, as well as any form of sausage. I ignored any knocks on my door, and didn't answer any phone calls. I became a recluse from society, and even attempted to get more vacation time from work. When the threats of being potentially fired started coming, I felt it was important to at least leave the house to earn money. I didn't allow any relatives or friends to know that I was indeed leaving the house, but the word somehow got out. After only a couple of days of successfully leaving and returning to my home, I came back one evening to find an intervention consisting of my closest family members and friends. I couldn't escape, since they barricaded the door so nobody could leave. They sat me down, each explaining the unstable tendencies I've acquired since returning. I empathized with them and understood their concerns, but simply thought there was nothing that could be done. I felt like damaged goods, and nothing could possibly revert me to the mental security I once had. After much resisting, I agreed to go to the therapy sessions that were set up for me, while still knowing that they wouldn't do any good.
Therapy began exactly the way I thought it would. Every time the therapist mentioned a name, I was brought back to a bad experience I had with that person while competing on the island. The therapist explained that I had a lack of closure with what had happened, and wouldn't be able to get back into a life of regularity unless I received said closure. Not succeeding in what I was determined to do left me unsatisfied, unable to let go of the past. Although I simply suggested a treatment that consisted of crazy pills that would fix my apparent mental disorders, he guided me to reconnect with those I actually liked during my experience. He suggested I look back on the good memories of Survivor, and try to forget the memories that made my time there a living hell.
Weeks went by and my psyche only seemed to have improved by painfully small amounts. I could handle normal, human, interactions, but the mentioning of select proper names and the scent of burnt sausage would cause me to leave my body and find myself back in the past. After over a month of regular therapy sessions, I received a phone call that came as a complete shock. The invitation to compete again in Sausage Island: All-Stars was a terrifying thought. I was immediately hesitant, and found it necessary to talk this through with my therapist before making any decisions.
The strong reaction I received from my therapist was not at all what I was expecting. He nearly used this second opportunity to play as a prescription to save me from the psychological limbo I was in. He saw a second chance as the perfect thing to give me closure. In desperate need to straighten up my mind, I quickly accepted the flattering opportunity. In the following months, the excitement of having the ability to play again overcame the nervous fears I suffered in the past weeks. I built up my physical and emotional strength to where I grew the confidence for yet another try at the deranged game of Survivor. As I flew yet again to the same island I once traveled to merely a little over a year before, I began to realize the beauty of what I was actually going to do. As I stepped foot on the sandy island for a second time, a rush of adrenaline ran through my body as I uttered, "This is just what I needed."
The feeling of stepping off the Island of Sausage was one of relief. The musky smell of deceit, manipulation, and roasted pig was far behind me, along with the seventeen others I've been trapped with for the past two and a half months. I looked forward to the life I was living before, one that consisted of family, friends, work, and real relationships that weren't simply for a cash prize.
When the plane landed, the comfort of familiarity swept over me, and the tension quickly left my body. The open arms I was welcomed with at home seemed like the perfect beginning to a new era of my life. My pride that was shaken by the likes of a succubus, a judgmental religious man, and young boy was securing as a result of the various praise I received from my loved ones, and it was a sure thing that the experience would be something I would look back on and appreciate. The lessons I learned about life itself and the levels others would stoop for a reward was eye-opening, and would only teach me about the morality of some people.
Days flew by, and the euphoric feeling of again living a pleasant lifestyle faded, and things began to draw back into normalcy. I returned to work, returned to my apartment, and the way of life before Sausage Island. I reconnected with my friends, spending most of my free time discussing the experience and the people I shared it with. Some sympathized with learning about the freak shows I was forced to live with, while others simply found it humorous. I chose not to have an opinion, and move on without involving myself too deeply in what is now in the past. There was nothing I wanted less than to regret things I couldn't change.
Although the first week was more than a successful time of reverting back to the norm, my emotional stability took a complete 180 during the simple errand of going grocery shopping. While in the meat aisle, I began to smell something, something that caused my mind to race back to the first step I took onto Sausage Island. The vivid memory of that small action caused me nearly lose all control over my physical self, as if astral projecting to the past. The strong resurgence of my spirit I felt charging back through my body caused me to take a few steps back. I had no idea what caused me to have such a strong reaction, until I saw the package of frozen sausage merely a foot away from me. I returned back into a state of being outside myself, this time to my first tribal council. The strong nerves and anxiousness I felt at that time overran my body, causing me to instinctively get as far away from the uncooked sausage as possible. As my heart rate began to settle and mind stopped racing, I felt it was best to simply return home and try to avoid something like that happening again.
I kept that strange experience secret from those around me, since I didn't want them to worry about what mental state I was in. I made sure to keep as far away from any sausage, or any form of cooked pig, in hopes to never have something like that happen again. But it wasn't far after that I realized this wasn't the only side effect from the traumatic experience that was Sausage Island. I began initiating competitions out of simple everyday tasks. I started challenging my mother to who could cook dinner fastest, and finding it necessary to race anybody who is going to the same place I am. I started excessively getting tickets from drag racing any vehicle that would pull up to next to me at a stoplight.
My psychological issues surfaced to those around me when an uncle of mine, Uncle John, attended a family party. Hearing the name "John" spoken by relatives of mine started making my mind run a mile a minute. I suddenly found myself back in the thick of Sausage Island, watching an angry John Carroll berate me in front of all the others. The countless times I was called an idiot and fool began to materialize in my mind, causing myself to question not only my sanity, but my intelligence. When I found myself back into my present body, I was on the floor, with my family surrounding my once soulless self. I began panicking from the stress of being the focus of everybody's attention, and didn't no what else to do than escape the house as quickly as possible and go somewhere where I could be alone with my thoughts.
I spent the next several days alone in my apartment, trying to avoid hearing the names of anyone I spent any time with on the island, as well as any form of sausage. I ignored any knocks on my door, and didn't answer any phone calls. I became a recluse from society, and even attempted to get more vacation time from work. When the threats of being potentially fired started coming, I felt it was important to at least leave the house to earn money. I didn't allow any relatives or friends to know that I was indeed leaving the house, but the word somehow got out. After only a couple of days of successfully leaving and returning to my home, I came back one evening to find an intervention consisting of my closest family members and friends. I couldn't escape, since they barricaded the door so nobody could leave. They sat me down, each explaining the unstable tendencies I've acquired since returning. I empathized with them and understood their concerns, but simply thought there was nothing that could be done. I felt like damaged goods, and nothing could possibly revert me to the mental security I once had. After much resisting, I agreed to go to the therapy sessions that were set up for me, while still knowing that they wouldn't do any good.
Therapy began exactly the way I thought it would. Every time the therapist mentioned a name, I was brought back to a bad experience I had with that person while competing on the island. The therapist explained that I had a lack of closure with what had happened, and wouldn't be able to get back into a life of regularity unless I received said closure. Not succeeding in what I was determined to do left me unsatisfied, unable to let go of the past. Although I simply suggested a treatment that consisted of crazy pills that would fix my apparent mental disorders, he guided me to reconnect with those I actually liked during my experience. He suggested I look back on the good memories of Survivor, and try to forget the memories that made my time there a living hell.
Weeks went by and my psyche only seemed to have improved by painfully small amounts. I could handle normal, human, interactions, but the mentioning of select proper names and the scent of burnt sausage would cause me to leave my body and find myself back in the past. After over a month of regular therapy sessions, I received a phone call that came as a complete shock. The invitation to compete again in Sausage Island: All-Stars was a terrifying thought. I was immediately hesitant, and found it necessary to talk this through with my therapist before making any decisions.
The strong reaction I received from my therapist was not at all what I was expecting. He nearly used this second opportunity to play as a prescription to save me from the psychological limbo I was in. He saw a second chance as the perfect thing to give me closure. In desperate need to straighten up my mind, I quickly accepted the flattering opportunity. In the following months, the excitement of having the ability to play again overcame the nervous fears I suffered in the past weeks. I built up my physical and emotional strength to where I grew the confidence for yet another try at the deranged game of Survivor. As I flew yet again to the same island I once traveled to merely a little over a year before, I began to realize the beauty of what I was actually going to do. As I stepped foot on the sandy island for a second time, a rush of adrenaline ran through my body as I uttered, "This is just what I needed."
~ Candice Woodcock
