God never intended for us to fly. It's just not natural. So, I'm freaking out about the unnatural transport I'm due to take, in four days, to Durban. I don't want to go! I do, but I don't! If you get my meaning. I hate flying. I freak out, unnaturally. I'll scratch the covering off the seats, I'll play with one button on my top, for the full flight. I'll even rock back and forth, because that's what you do when you're crazazy with anxiety and blocked ears.
My ears don't play ball due to anxiety. They're blocking now and I'm still on solid ground. They don't handle well on flights, at all. The pressure builds, they start to ache, and then I turn into a frenzied whop. My head feels like it's about to blow off my shoulders. I want to claw the doors open. I need fresh air. I need the cabin to decompress. I need them to land the plane NOW! I don't care that we're at thirty eight thousand feet, just let me out so my ears will equalize; and, I'll walk from here, thanks!
Wooooosaaa, woooosaaa. Oh, screw it! Where's the Xanax, Xanor, Valium, baseball bat to the head?
On the outside, I'm fidgeting a lot, and smiling like a psychotic. I'm pretending everything is normal. Ripping a book cover apart into small itty bitty shitty pieces, is a perfectly normal exercise for me when flying. I'm a total booklover on any other given day, but when flying I really couldn't give a flying shiz. The more normal my habits (like shredding perfectly fabulous books), the more natural blocked ears, and being strapped into tons of free-flying metal feels. My husband has no idea how much of a potential flight hazard I am. We've never flown together before. He'll pick it up when he sees our much-treasured copy of Lord Of The Rings shredded and covering the floor of the 200-seater plane. Pre-empting: Paola's ability to vividly imagine a devastating outcome when using something that many view as completely harmless, such as a cheese-grater.
Clearly my fear is far too overwhelming. All signs of sanity become redundant as the plane doors close. I won't have enough stability left to try and reign in my frenzied anxiety. I need help or I'll attack the drinks cabinet like a rabid dog. I called the doctor yesterday and asked for more drugs than any one person is reasonably allowed to carry on their person without being labeled a "dealer". The ear issue is one thing, but the actual flight is a whole other ballgame altogether.
When I get on the plane, as a rule which I have no control over, I'm immediately steeped in anxiety. It climbs faster than any plane / jet, and envelopes me in a duvet of fear. Serotonin be damned. I go crazy while I'm waiting for other passengers, who are not even remotely phased about flying, to stow their luggage, make small-talk and pretend that this is completely normal! They laugh, "ha, ha, ha, yes, I'm going to see my grand-daughter, she's going to be one. It's the first time I'm meeting her. Ha, ha, ha, oh yes, isn't she lovely." Really?! Are you aware that you may still not meet her? Why aren't you running down the runway, screaming your head off about the fact that you may have just dammed yourself by deciding to fly? Don't you just wish a plane would land on you now and put you out of your misery? I do, because you're annoying me, not really actually, your calm behaviour is rather comforting, and yet you're annoying me. What else can I shred?
The cabin crew begin their safety talk thingymajig. I try to maintain emotional well-being while attempting to memorize the entire safety sheet, and praying that NOTHING WILL HAPPEN! I swear to give to the poor (all exits to your left, I think), not blaspheme anymore (no parachutes? But we're flying over land. What the HELL am I going to do with a bloody life-jacket while plummeting a gazillion feet a second?!), be nicer to my psycho neighbour (um, la la la laaaa!), and smile at everyone, while walking to church everyday henceforth. Clearly I think God has no idea what's really going on in my head, it's a war zone.
The plane bounces slightly as it's pushed back. There's still time for me to get off. If I scream and cry and start taking my clothes off, they'll definitely throw me off the plane. OKAY! Wait, but, my babies don't need to see their mother ripping her clothes off in front of 200 complete strangers. I'm going to have to maintain a facade of parental control, over myself, and show them how much "fun" this is. "Oh yay, look the plane is moving" (no, no, no). "Wow, we're moving towards the runway now. The runway is the looooong road which the plane roars down." (sob, sob, get me outta here!). "Mommy, what's that sound?" "Oh, that's nothing darling, that's just the plane getting ready for take-off." (WTF? F***K. What the bloody hell was that? Breathe, just breathe. Don't throw-up, keep it down!) "Mommy, you're hurting my hand." "Sorry honey, I'm just soooo excited to be flying with you for the first time." (If we go down, please let me totally accepting of being smashed to smithereens).
I'm singing Mozart's "Twinkle twinkle little star." It's not a mantra, but it's innocent enough to make me feel relatively calm. I move on to, "Twinkle twinkle chocolate bar, my daddy drives a rusty car. Start the starter, pull the choke, off we go in a cloud of smoke." Um, no, that's not doing me ANY good. No clouds of anything. No clouds! Breathe deeply. "This little piggy went to market..."
The plane starts taxiing, and I'm in for life! Sobbing my heart out, I know exactly what I'm going to feel, the moment it takes off. (There's not enough lift, we're going down. I can't deal with it, I need to scratch the skin off my hands. I need to get out of my body. I need to be anywhere else but here. I need to fly the plane, I have to be in control of it). Somehow I don't see them handing over control of an Airbus to an inexperienced psychotic passenger. It just wouldn't make good business sense.
My ears are starting to block. The pressure is mounting. Irrationally, I'm thinking about food. "Give me your sandwich." Husband: "Why?" Me: "Because if you don't, I'm going to rip my clothes off and then you'll be sorry." Husband (stupid grin): "Okay, you can't have my sandwich." Me: "Fine." I rip my kid's chocolate bar out of his hand. He's about to contest this clearly unfair decision, when I dare him, with the 'mom' look, to try and get it back. Chocolates, chips, candy sticks, Jack Daniels; all your "healthy" food groups. My daughter's bottle briefly considered, then not. Feeling ill from eating crap. Now, I'm willing to polish all passengers shoes, and clean the inside of the plane, if it means I don't have to sit in my seat for two hours and think about the fact that there's nothing between me and solid ground, but thirty eight thousand feet of cold, polluted, and in certain areas, stinking air. Yeah, because that's going to be my concern on the way down.
The plane levels out and the Captain does the 'ping' thing with the intercom system and I FREAK OUT! He's going to tell us something's wrong with the plane, and he'd like to wish us all the best on the way down, and for when we get to the Pearly Gates.
"This is your Captain speaking, the weather is great all the way to Durban. We'd like you to sit back, relax and enjoy the flight." Oh, no messages from St. Peter? Thank Heavens.
"Mommy, may I have another chocolate?" Me: "Yes babe! Have ten, twenty...in fact, you may have it for breakfast, lunch and dinner, for the rest of your life." Clearly I'm not in the running for Mom-of-the-year.
Two hours have passed, my nerves are shot to shiz, my son wants to live on an aeroplane, my husband believes he's married a lost cause who'll strip for food, and my daughter is sleeping; because Stopaine is the Shiz!
'Ping' thingy on intercom system, again. Oh funion, think happy thoughts, think happy thoughts! "We'll be landing at Shaka blah blah airport in ten minutes. Please ensure your trays are in the upright position, seat-belts fastened, and we'd like to thank you for flying blah blah Airways."
Oh the air-pressure again! Breathe, breathe, let me out of here, clothes off (in head), smash window (in head), punch anyone who tries to stop me (in head), steal chocolate from every kid on plane.
Four more sleeps until our flight. If I start walking now...
