Claustrophobia is a really strange thing. If you have never felt the strains of panic that arise when your body feels enclosed, then you might want to skip this discussion. Or you might want to read it, so you can better understand one of your loved ones. Or just for kicks. It’s interesting when you reflect back on your life and start to categorize events and file them under headings. If you’re like me, you realize that certain topics rear their heads consistently, or even sporadically throughout your life. The accumulation of all of these events is what make you you. It also helps define characteristics of your life—how you deal with people and things.
Let’s turn the page back a few years, when I was but a wee child. I had very intense reactions to certain types of clothing. I disdained tight socks, would not wear a hat, could not bear putting on a turtleneck shirt, and shied away from pull-over sweaters. As I am writing this, I am starting to feel the terrible rising fear of trying to get myself out of a heavy sweater that is being pulled over my head, with my arms tangled in wool, twisted to all angles imaginable, with very little air to breathe, gathering tighter and tighter and tighter. I can feel the minutes, hours, days, tick by as I try desperately to free myself from the knotted prison of unrelenting fabric. Yeah, that was me. That is me.
The interesting thing is that, for me, the Claustrophobia does not always win. I find myself, sometimes in a tight spot, saying “Wow, I can’t believe I am doing this, and I don’t feel enclosed. This doesn’t bother me at all.” When that happens, I find it’s best for me to change my train of thought and start to re-focus on some other aspect of what I’m doing. Because, the worst thing for me to do, is to say “Or does it?” The minute I question my level of comfort, the concern and re-evaluation begin. It takes only seconds for me to realize that this situation is not working and I need to get out of there, and get out of there RIGHT NOW! This probably makes no sense to a lot of people, but it is what it is.
Let me give you a few examples of my successes and failures.
At a restaurant, sitting at a large corner booth table, as people slide across the booth from the left and from the right, one person, invariably gets caught in the center. The seat from which there is no return. I have been there before. I have eaten an entire meal in that seat. But, I have also forced other people to switch seats with me, so that I don’t get trapped there. Because, when you realize that the only ways to escape from the seat are to jump across the table, crawl under the table, make everyone slide out (which they cannot do quickly enough), or break the glass on the window behind the table, then you know that this is not a seat for you. Doesn’t always happen, but, let me say that I will avoid that middle seat, now that I know it could happen. That my mind could go there.
Exploring a slot canyon in Arizona. I absolutely loved the stunning beauty as we walked through the tight, jagged, underground passageways, taking picture after picture. My mind briefly registered that this was a deep hole that I would not be able to get out of quickly, but I was able to quell the scary feeling by looking up at the open sky. You see, freedom was above; I could see the sky. I wasn’t pinned in. I knew that, if desperate, I could scale the canyon walls to escape. No need to worry. I could enjoy. Mind over matter.
Same with my MRI. When I had to endure an MRI, I laid still, as instructed, with my head positioned so that my eyes stared intensely at the small opening in front of me. In my brain, I repeated over and over, “that is how I will get out of this machine, I will squeeze right through that little opening. I can get out of here anytime that I need to.” It took every ounce of strength I had to lay as still as possible, but I did it.
I have learned to avoid situations that seem likely to get a rise from me. No corn mazes. No escape rooms. No spelunking. No submarine tours. I have even gone so far as to not wear rings. No judgement, please. Back during the years of pregnancies, it was difficult to wear my wedding rings, because my fingers were swollen. After my fingers returned to normal, I tried, time and time again, to put rings back on my fingers. With large knuckles, it’s hard to get rings on and off. Pretty much, every time, I would successfully get the rings on, I would notice how unusual it felt to have the metal on my finger, but I would make it through the day without incident. Sometime in the night, I would wake up in a sweat, realizing I had to get those things off my fingers IMMEDIATELY! Pull, twist, apply soap, smear Vaseline, rub oil, whatever it took, they had to come off NOW! Not in a casual way; in a panicked, I-don’t-know-what-will-happen-if-I-don’t-get-them-off way. Not pretty. So, yeah, I don’t wear rings anymore.
I cannot always avoid situations, though. Sometimes, I can’t even predict that a situation will turn into an ordeal, such as what happened at Disneyworld in Florida. Years ago, we had finally arranged a trip to Disney with the kids. There is actually a good story to tell about that trip—Stretching Dollars For Disney. Anyhoo, we had been having a great time exploring the Magic Kingdom, when we boarded a monorail to ride to another park. If you don’t know, the monorail is an above-ground elevated transit. The monorail car was full, and getting more crowded as we boarded. We were pushed to the back of the car, and I staked out my spot standing by an oversized window. I had my back to the throngs of people, strollers, and what-not which were pressed into the car. I was positioned right at the large window, so I stood there looking out. Everything was fine for the first few minutes of the ride. Then the monorail car sputtered and stopped. A voice came over the loud speaker explaining technical difficulties. We were stopped above the park. Looking out the window, I could see people moving about between rides, walking along the concrete paths. No problem, just an unfortunate delay for us.
The monorail started up again, and moved away from the park, driving over the Florida landscape, destined for the next nearby park. It was then that the monorail stopped again. More info from the loudspeaker. But here’s the thing. This time we were stopped over a big lake. A big frickin' lake. I started realizing that I was stuck in this car, pressed against the glass, and my only escape was to break out the glass and swim for it. I wondered how far back I would have to swing my arm to get enough force to smash the glass. And wondered if I could I even do it. I glanced at my family, with their hurry-up-we-want-to-get-there looks, and realized they didn’t even know how desperate this situation really was. I took a deep breath, and then another one. I stared very hard at the lake water, then I envisioned myself there in the middle of the lake. There I am swimming. The water is splashing all around me. I’m not swimming frantically—no, I’m swimming happily, playfully, enjoying the water. I think I will swim towards the shore. But, that’s a long way off. Can I make it that far? Nope, not gonna think about that, I'll just swim around here in the middle of the lake. On my back. Under water. Side stroke. Dog paddle. Look how fun this is.
Finally, the monorail started up again. It had been about 20 minutes of stalled, dead time. For the majority of passengers, including my family, it was 20 wasted minutes. Time they could have been riding a fun Disney ride. For me, it was 20 minutes of extremely intense, all muscles tightened, forced concentration to keep myself from completely freaking out. I was exhausted. After we left the monorail, when I confessed to my family, they were completely shocked that I had been standing right beside them having a concealed attack. My kids also gave me a sideways I-never-expected-this-from-you look. My, how the mighty have fallen.
All in all, I spend about 80% of my life not thinking at all about claustrophobia. It’s the 20% that catches me off guard, or makes me change my plans just to keep myself safe. It’s just enough to nag at me and remind me of what I’m like. And to realize that a lot of my “-isms” and “-obias” take root in my need to be in control, and my sense of anxiety when I cannot control my environment and change it if necessary, or get away from a location if I have to. Self-awareness, that’s the key.
Just remind me NOT to book the airplane seat with the emergency exit door. I don’t want to make a bad decision in a moment of distress. Just kidding, won't actually happen.
Interestingly, Claustrophobia sometimes manifests in me as a nervous concern about not being able to get out of a given situation, even if not a closed-in space. So, remind me NOT to book a trip to a tiny island like Tristan Da Cunha in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. Look it up on Google Maps--the only access is a 6-day boat trip with limited passage from Cape Town, South Africa. According to the island's website, Tristan is an active volcanic island with rare wildlife and home to 244 British Citizens living in the world's most isolated settlement of Edinburgh of the Seven Seas, far from the madding crowd in the South Atlantic Ocean. Guinness Book of World Records says the remotest inhabited island in the world is Tristan da Cunha. That’s a place that I KNOW I could not handle, because, on an isolated island like that, the 20% portion of my brain would take over, and I would scream “I have to get out of here, NOW!!!!” It would not be pretty.
Have some sympathy for your friends if they worry and fret in places that that don't bother you. And encourage them, if they need help, to get help. My Claustrophobia is a pretty minor inconvenience. I'm plugging along just fine, thanks for asking!