So, it seems I've been on a bit of a blogging hiatus. I'll do better. Promise.
Let me preface this blog. When I was a little girl, I had a day bed with a trundle under it that wheeled out. One of my neighborhood friends often thought there was fun to be had in that small space that is created behind the trundle bed when it is pulled out. That small, dark area just underneath the day bed. Every time she came over, she suggested we play whatever game we were into in that very tiny, enclosed hole. Well, I wasn't having any of it. The thought of crawling under there made my heart race and put a fear in me that I could not describe.
There have been moments in my life where I've been faced with a friend who has an abnormally large piece of luggage, and I, being the below average size of a normal adult human being, have been "dared" or "challenged" to fit my body inside said piece of luggage. To which I reply, "Nah, I choose oxygen."
From as far back as I can remember, I have never been comfortable in enclosed areas. I don't enjoy the feeling of being trapped or stuck in any one spot.
Back in the 90's, I attended Lalapalooza on more than one occasion. One year, well say 1994, the concert was held on the grounds of Cal State Dominguez Hills. The crowd was large that September day despite the heat. I was with a group of friends plus hundreds of other scantly clad, weed-smoking, mosh pit dancing, head banging concert goers. One of my all time favorite bands, the Beastie Boys, took the stage. Before they made their entrance, the crowd consisted of clumps of cliques with space in between each group. You could easily tell who was hanging out with whom. As soon as the B Boys came out, the crowd was on their feet, and for good reason. Pretty soon, the space in between groups of people were filled in with other concert goers just wanting to rock with Mike D. Quickly though, the cluster became a swarm. Everyone was shoulder to shoulder, except me, I was shoulder to elbow. It was no longer a cluster of parties but a giant monster, everyone swaying, not to the music but to keep their footing. There was no walking out of the herd, no room to dance, or sit or take a deep breath. I was fortunately next to my brother's best friend who is large in stature and held me next to him so that I didn't fall over and get trampled or swallowed up by the monster. As I swayed with the crowd, praying to make it out alive, I had to concentrate very hard on not breaking down and crying. After a few minutes, about a songs length, the crowd calmed and thinned and there was room to move again. It was terrifying but here I sit, I lived to tell the tale.
Now, remember how I said, I don't like feeling trapped? Let me take a moment to talk candidly. This next part is not for children. You know how some people enjoy being tied up or handcuffed during, um, hanky-panky? Well, the thought of that makes me want to hyperventilate. Being tethered to a bedpost does not do it for me. I'm now going to speak directly to my future husband. If you've got the notion that fuzzy handcuffs or silk scarves are the way to rock my world, keep on moving mister. I guarantee, I will not be enjoying any part of our adult time while tied up to anything. Also, I reserve the right to change my mind.
What's my point? For the past few months, my mom and I had planned a birthday trip to New York City over Thanksgiving weekend. We made lists, we called a travel agent, we planned and prepared for weeks. Our travel agent, hooked us up with a sweet deal. Tickets to the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade complete with breakfast and unlimited use of a bathroom. All three of us were under the impression that the tickets included a designated area to view the parade from. However, that was sadly untrue.
On the morning of Thanksgiving, but more importantly, my birthday, my mom and I went to the restaurant, located near Time Square and had our yummy free breakfast, and used the facilities before heading out to watch the parade. As we left the establishment, we asked the guy at the door where our designated area to stand was. He looked at us puzzled and said, "wherever you can find one." That was disappointing since everyone on the street had been there since before the sun rose and we were just filing in the back.
My mom and I decided that we were going to try to cross the street to the other side where it seemed less crowded. So we began to walk down the block to the next street where we saw people crossing. There were barricades set up at the curb to keep everyone cattled in and out of the parade route. The further down the sidewalk we went, the more crowded it got. People were coming toward us, the people behind us were pushing, no one was going left or right and forget about diagonal. I started to feel claustrophobic. I even said to my mom, "I'm feeling claustrophobic." My sweet mother told me that we were almost to the street and we could find a hole and cross to the other side. To which I replied, "I think I'm going to cry." As soon as I recognized the fear that I was feeling, tears began streaming down my face. I looked up at the open space in the sky and tried to keep an even breath. My mom began to comfort me and asking people if they could just move to the side so that we could get through. It was too late though, my silent tears turned into sobs. I needed out. I wasn't scared of running out of oxygen or getting lost. I felt trapped. I could no longer see a way out of where I was standing and it terrified me.
I told my mom I wanted to go back. I wanted to go to where we came from. She said, okay, and we began to push back through the crowd. I was sobbing and apologizing to everyone, searching for a hole in the sea of people. It seemed to take hours to get back, but we finally did and all I could do was stand next to a tree, sobbing and apologizing profusely to my mother. I didn't feel guilty, I felt bad.
So there I was, on my 40th birthday, with my head on my mommy's shoulder, crying and trying desperately hard not to hyperventilate. It took a few minutes, but I stopped sobbing. It took a little longer for the tears to stop flowing, but eventually, they did. Some nice people let me stand near a barricade where there was plenty of space should I feel the need to flee the scene. However, my mom was 2-3 people away from me and this was kindling to my fire of anxiety. I was uncomfortable and kept glancing back to make sure she was still there. Next thing I see, a group of security/cops/SWAT looking type people and I thought, if there is some kind of terrorist attack or shooting, I'm not even going to have the opportunity to die next to my mother. So that fed into my panic and I manage to convince some nice people to let her stand next to me.
This is longer than I had thought it would be. I don't have a lesson to tie into all of this. Well, actually, I realized that when I don't feel like my life is moving forward, like I feel "trapped" I become very agitated and depressed and constantly try to find ways to help me feel like I am progressing in life. Maybe the two have a connection?
We watched most of the parade and realized that the although just as boring, the Rose Parade is better to watch. We ducked out early so that I could catch my breath, get something to drink and reapply my make-up.
I took a picture of my mom and I just after my panic attack. Notice the puffy, red, eyes from crying. See all the people!? If you can relate to my incident, tell me in the comment section, or tell me I was being silly.
Susan "Don't Fence Me In" B.
