If you've ever loved someone that was far away, I am sure you know how hard it can be.

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My relationship with @sammosk isn't my first long distance relationship, but it is definitely the most difficult one that I've had. In the sense of the scale of distance, and the trials that stand in the way of us being together.

This is also the first time that I am with someone that is a citizen of another country. And THAT is the hardest part.

International couples are scrutinized under a microscope in ways that are humiliating. You know that feeling when you see a cop in your rearview mirror and you start to panic? Even though you didn't do anything wrong?

Imagine that but with everything on the line.

When I arrived in Australia to see @sammosk for the first time, I was sweating bullets. Everything over the intercom was in a thick Australian accent that I hadn't acclimated to completely. I had no idea where I was supposed to be going, being bumped by strangers that knew their way out of the airport. I knew I was about to step up to a booth containing a person that decided with a wave of the hand if I get see the person standing on the other side of the gate waiting for me or if they will tell me to go the hell back home.

My anxiety was in overdrive.

When I finally got to the immigration officer, I was drenched in sweat. Between knowing this person could decide something that impacts the rest of my life and knowing that @sammosk was standing somewhere waiting for me, I thought my knees were going to give out from the pressure. I am sure I looked even paler and pallid than usual.

I remember that the officer looked at me strangely. Which turned into an accusing glare.

"... What brings you to Australia?"

I stammered and coughed, I hadn't said more than probably twelve sentences since I had started my twenty five hour flight. I literally had to find my voice again.

I told her that I was there visiting my boyfriend. We were going sightseeing. He and his friend were waiting outside. I was very excited and very nervous. I couldn't wait to see their beautiful country.

I probably should have just told her I was doing the tourist thing, but I was panicked and I also didn't have a hotel reservation as proof for that claim. And apparently giving false information to an immigration officer can be a felony.

The sweat pouring from my brow looking like sweet, sweet bullets of guilt, I am sure. Anxious and guilty look remarkably similar to the undiscerning eye.

She checked my passport about three times. She wanted my visa number, which I supplied. She squinted at all of my documents and questioned me for what felt like an eternity.

And then she said something you hope to GOD you never hear.

"... I'll be right back. Stand right there, do not move."

Ohfuckohfuckohfuck

The urge to call after her and say something stupid like "Wait, what did I do wrong?!" was overwhelming.

At this point, I was pretty sure I was either going to black out or vomit. Maybe even both. Maybe simultaneously. The sweat that was just regular anxiety sweat before turned ice cold.

I peered around her booth and saw her standing with what appeared to be a serious officer. Not the meet and greet ones you usually see.

She pointed at me.
He looked at me and narrowed his eyes.
He nodded.

She came back to what the human equivalent of a puddle that was my hopes and dreams and told me to "step this way".

She sat me down on the single bench behind immigration and walked away with another warning not to move. I was on the bad bench. The guilty bench. But what did I do besides sweat a lot?

Did I give the wrong answers?

Is my passport weird looking?

Am I?

What did I DO WRONG?

The inner dialog was so intense that I could barely handle it. They wouldn't tell me anything. Why I was being held, what they needed, what they were doing. I wasn't allowed to ask questions, I was told. And then they asked for my computer, my tablet, and any device that I owned. And they wanted the passwords.

I gave it to them.

While I handed my tech over, I watched a man get escorted past me in handcuffs to some unmarked room to my left. He met eyes with me and nodded like "Me, too. Me, too."

When they walked away with all of my belongings, I sat down on the floor next to the bench and proceeded to have the mother of all panic attacks.

If you've never had one, allow me to enlighten you to what mine are like personally:

I basically feel like I'm dying and the whole world that I know is spinning out from under me. I can physically feel it.
The tears come out in a torrential downpour of fear. Hysterical sobbing can be expected.
I go so pale that my lips turn translucent and you can't even see them anymore.
Shaking and turning cold to the touch while still managing to sweat.
Also, this can be accompanied by the feeling of needing to piss, shit, and vomit all at once.
Thankfully... that doesn't actually happen. But your whole body feels like it is about to evacuate as you hit something that is close to flight or fight.

The poor green horned, young officer they left to babysit me didn't know what the fuck to do. She started to turn and look for help. And then she tried to calm me with a shaky voice.

"Hey... hey... it's okay. It's okay, don't cry. Um... I... Do you need water?! I'm going to get you water! Stay here, don't move."

I sobbed in response.

The water, surprisingly, helped.

When I regained my composure I explained that it was a panic attack and I apologized but I couldn't stop it. And I didn't know what I did wrong and why I was there. I just wanted to see my boyfriend. I wanted to go. And I was incredibly scared.

She informed me that she couldn't tell me anything.

After about three hours I was finally released. They had collected my luggage and seemingly gone through it. They were nice enough to bring it to me on a trolly so I could leave in as much haste as I could muster.

I went to the bathroom, washed my face, and changed my clothes.

I then ran outside. I looked and looked and looked. I couldn't' see them.

So I sat down in the smoking area and pulled out device after device to try to send them a message. Finally, after all of them being dead from them searching through all of my personal shit, I found that my laptop had enough charge to send out a message.

Did they leave?
Did they think I never even showed up?

Finally, @dunstuff ran around the corner and brought me to @sammosk.

Come to find out, not only was I getting the third degree, so was he.

They wanted his ID, they wanted his address, they even demanded to see his bank account. He was surrounded by officers and being drilled even harder than I was.

We were both having panic attacks.

Serendipity.

So needless to say, when we entered the USA, and I realized they were separating us at immigration, I was terrified.

If the country lax on immigration treated me that way... how are they going to treat him?

Naturally, I got through just fine. They had a question about some beef jerky I had, made sure it wasn't Kangaroo, and waved me to the other side. My officer was incredibly friendly and personable.

When I got to the other side, I paced. I thought that I was going to have to argue with an immigration officer about letting the love of my life into the country. The only thing worse than the guilty bench is confrontation.

About thirty seconds after I came through, I was met with a sweaty, anxious @sammosk.

Apparently, the officer he had drilled the hell out of him and asked all kinds of questions like:

"Girlfriend, huh? Where is she?"

"Are you going to get married?"

"Do you want to marry her?"

"When is the wedding?"

"Are you going to get engaged?"

"You know you have to leave again, right?"

And looked over his tickets forever before begrudgingly letting him through.

I think that this is the worst part of being an international couple.

Knowing that if we did want to get married or settle down somewhere that we would be under constant scrutiny and question because of citizenship seeking. We have to shell out for expensive visas, go to interviews, answer invasive questions, and be poked and prodded. Made to feel guilty because we must be doing something wrong.

Because you obviously wouldn't just happen to find the perfect person halfway across the world by chance. You must just be doing it for the green card.

To be honest, we don't know where we want to live, we just know we want to live there together.

But just being together is the hardest part.

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