Blog #4 edited

To Signal Danger

Amaxophobia

My mother got into a car accident and she stopped driving. She is petrified of big cars passing us by and is constantly reminding whoever is driving to “Drive slower.” She is always telling me to be careful when I drive and to watch out for other drivers and not go too fast on curves. Curves. That’s where the accident happened. It was right in front of me in the pouring rain. A Jeep speeds down the wet pavement on the highway and then he crashes into the back of the Jeep in front of me. I stomped down on the brakes and froze for a minute. I didn’t know what to do, so I slowly drove away. When I told my mother she reminded me to “be careful.” Is it my responsibility to be careful and cautious of EVERYTHING that happens on the road around me? There is so little control that we actually have it’s sometimes futile to even try.

Yet, every time I get into a car I feel the need to be vigilant because something might happen and I need to be ready; ready for what though? If a car is speeding down the highway, how does my paying attention really help prevent him from crashing into me? If the idiot driving swerves my way there is very little chance that I’ll have enough time to move out of the way. But I guess the illusion of power in such situations is better than the overwhelming realization that at any given time a crash, a fire, a stray bullet could end your life without you so much as having the ability to move a finger.

Escalaphobia

When I was about 7 or 8 years old, my family and I were at the airport on our way to board our flight. Taking the escalator up to the next floor was a fun little ride on such an exciting day. We were going to Dominican Republic; we would sit in the sun, go to the waterfall and enjoy our time away from the city. When I got to the top of the escalator I heard noises coming from below, my mother was stuck on the escalator with my younger sister. Somehow they had fallen and now the guards were trying to free her from the escalators grip. I watched at the top as my sister cried and my mother struggled to get up. I don’t remember where my dad went but I know that I couldn’t help them so I just looked on. The steps are much simpler, easier. You place one foot in front of the other and the steps don’t move on you, they don’t try and trick you. It wasn’t until I was in high school that I could go on an escalator again. Even now I have trouble stepping onto one. I have to stare at the metal pieces disappear and time my steps appropriately so that I don’t trip or fall.

            For years I was able to avoid escalators, but one day on a class field trip I was forced to face my fear. We were at Liberty Science Center (back when it was cool) and when it was time to leave I was left behind staring at my classmates as I stood at the top of the escalator unable to move. I didn’t care that my peers where staring up at me wondering what was wrong. I don’t even remember if they made fun of me for it or not. All I knew was this crippling anxiety. If I could climb down the walls of Liberty Science Center instead of going down the escalator I would have not thought twice about it. But there I stood frozen. My legs didn’t know what to do. My heart was racing, my head was throbbing and I was sure I would pass out or throw up. Neither of those things happened. One of the chaperones came up the stairs and walked me down with her. Slowly. Cautiously. I rode the escalator down to what didn’t turn out to be imminent doom but to my classmates who waited as I made my way back to them.

Not Aerophobia but thanatophobia

When I was young I didn’t think about death as something that could happen at any time. Death was something that happened to “old people” and if it happened to anyone else it was a tragic event that occurred to the regret of the world. I remember that when I was a child going on vacation with my family one of our plane’s wings caught fire and I could see the smoke from the window. As a kid on that plane I thought it was an adventure, a story to tell, that there was no way we would die (despite the fact that the plane was on fire and we were in the middle of the ocean). My memory of the plane being on fire is blurry. I know it happened, I can remember being told to put my head between my legs, I know there were nuns and a boys soccer team on board and somehow everyone thought that was reassuring because of course a plane with so many innocent children and a bunch of nuns won't go down in flames. But then I remember tragic stories of innocent people dying in horrific accidents and how there really was no guarantee that we wouldn't become one of those stories you hear on the news.

When we landed back at the airport many people chose to go home instead of getting on another plane and continuing on our way. But not my family, we got on the next flight out. Maybe that helped keep the fear of flying at bay. I love planes and would love to be able to fly to different places around the world (if I had the time and money). Flying is such an amazing experience. You are traveling in a huge chunk of metal thousands of feet in the air.

It’s funny that after all of these experiences I can be more afraid of an escalator than a plane. None of this made me a religious person or made me question my existence or any of that, at least not at the time. The car accident happened only a few weeks ago and left me a bit shaken up. Every time I pass by that curve on route 22 I think about the collision and how stupid that driver must have been to drive so fast in such bad weather. But then again we never think that bad things will happen to us. For the most part we’re all so very confident that “it won’t happen to me.” But it can happen to me (and to you).

I don’t try to hide the residual effects of these events. They shaped how I view the world and how I react to the world. Every now and again it will get in the way of relaxing and just enjoying life but there is no sure fire way to avoid accidents. Things happen. What matters is how much power those events have over our lives.