Dr. Strangefear
…or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Elevator
Or at least I hope that’s what this story will be within a few weeks…
It’s interesting, being a claustrophobe in Boston. I take a train, crammed full of people. I pile on and off in a sea of silent humans. I use revolving doors. And worst of all, I take the elevator to the eleventh floor.
I’ve been trying very hard not to lose control of my breathing and other functions in all of these cases. I had a particularly bad day over the weekend at my sister’s dorm, in her elevator. I did the thing where I refused to breathe. That is not recommended. At least I haven’t gotten quite so bad this week.
I did have a mild attack on Monday night when one of my coworkers proffered the elevator to me first because I’m the “new girl.” I generally prefer to get on last, so I can be prepared to run off at the other end. But I politely said, “Thank you,” and laughed a little bit about being the “new girl.” I was nervous, but I lived.
The revolving doors aren’t posing quite so much of a problem. At least they are human powered, so I can blow through them at top speed. It’s not so bad. I hope.
The mass of people is a wholly other problem. But I’ve been doing pretty well with that too. Today was a stretch, as I actually felt someone pushing me from behind as I was approaching the entrance to the train car. Even still, I made it, and I didn’t hyperventilate.
I can do this.