ANXIETY. We’ve all been through it, some of us more than others. Some people face a small amount of anxiety every day while for others it reaches a high point in specific situations. It looks different for everyone.
For me, it peaks on flights. This is a recent development. I went my whole life flying without a problem. I don’t know why this happens now, but it may stem from the fact that heights are a challenge for me. You can imagine that plane rides represent the worst of that.
Some of you know I just got back from a long trip. It was life-changing, it was fantastic, it was hard. It included many flights, and I wrote down all of the thoughts I had during one, from take-off to the moment the vodka kicked in.
This is really hard for me to share. I’m aware of the stigma that surrounds anxiety, or the idea that sufferers are “type A,” “erratic,” or “loosely hinged.” I’m not... most of those things. But sometimes I have a complicated relationship with my brain.
If you can’t relate, maybe you have a loved one who experiences something similar. If you can step out of your own mind to understand, you can help them more than you know.
For me, anxiety is…
Fervently smacking the six buttons of your passcode so you can change the unsoothing, unhelpful, TOO SLOW song that Spotify shuffle has burdened you with right at take-off, cursing technology all the while. Maybe the next song will help you reach some sort of peace. Typing your passcode in one, two, three times incorrectly because your hands are shaking and the turbulence is bad. (My phone was personally victimized. We’re working through it.)
It’s accidentally looking out the window and seeing the clouds below, realizing you blinked and suddenly you’re thousands of miles from the ground, where you feel safe and in control. You’re hours away from it, but you can already see yourself barking at the nice flight attendant when she walks by and asks you to lift the thin plastic window cover separating you from that next level of panic. The level that sets every nerve in your body on fire and burrows a hole in your chest. (Sorry, nice flight attendant. It’s not you, it’s me.)
When every little bump, from turbulence to the person next to you accidentally grazing you on the arm as they adjust themselves on a long flight, gives your heart a SoulCycle-level workout.
When every wrong look from a neighbor (what do they know that I don’t?) and sudden move (why are they acting so uncomfortable?) builds dread.
When your senses are on high alert, and your already frayed nerves keep you anticipating, analyzing every. single. thing. like you’re Carrie Bradshaw on Tinder.
When the pills don’t work. The only thing that does is alcohol, and it’s a little awkward to explain to your flight mates why you’re desperately combing a tiny Cambodian airport for a mini bottle of Chardonnay — or why you have three mini bottles from the hotel in your bag, for emergencies. Don’t worry though, those bottles will be empty in the trash soon enough.
It’s feeling your heart drop when you realize that day’s travel plan involves more than one flight. You’re already exhausted. Will the next airport you stop at have booze? How long is the layover? And, if you can’t numb it with vodka, what’s the next best option?
When you ask yourself, are you the crazy one for freaking out when everyone else is fine? Or are they crazy for not being scared, not having concerns, not asking questions? Which is more normal? Which is more justified? Healthy? Best?
When you find yourself wondering, how qualified is your pilot? This person you’ve never met before who has your life in their hands. Are they too old, too young? Is there more than one? Do they have the proper training to handle an emergency? Do they even know what they’re doing?
Oh but wait, why did that man look up so suddenly after that big bump on the back-left side of the plane? If he’s scared, should you be? If he’s scared, you should be. Shouldn’t you?
What would happen if an engine went out?
Why is the next song taking so long to play? (Yes, iPhone, I know I have to turn off Airplane Mode to get full data.)
Every time the pilot speaks, you quickly pause your music, wondering if he’s coming through with bad news.
And, look — the communal screen in the center of the aisle is showing the tiny plane figure flying vertically, not horizontally. It’s just a map, that’s how they all look. But the visual...
What’s that burning smell?
Why can’t you stop crying? Did you not drink enough before the flight? Will you keep having to drink more and more as time goes on just to stay sane? How is this sustainable?
You see a kid across the aisle. He’s calm and patient, playing quietly on an iPad. How are you going to fly once you have kids? How are you going to hide this stupid panic from them so they don’t take it on? How are you going to take care of them during flights?
You check the flight map. How far are we from land? If something happened, could we still land safely? If there was no flight map, would it be because it’s an old plane? How old? How safe? Does its age make it tried and true or decrepit and less trustworthy?
There are people who will never fly in their lifetimes. Are you taking it for granted? That’s bad.
How is this affecting your flight mates? Are they annoyed? Are they irritated? Is this ruining their travel experiences? Is this too much to put on them?
It takes 15 minutes for caffeine to reach the brain. Is it the same with alcohol?
You have to use the restroom. If you hold it, will it help distract you?
Is it weird that you’re the only one drinking a vodka during an 8 a.m. flight? Does the orange juice make it more normal? (Mimosas for everyone!) Do you even care? No, you don’t. You’re sure they have their things, too.
Your travel buddy makes conversation with the portly man next to us. He’s from Boston. He’s nice.
They ask him about his family twice, he only answers the second time. His loneliness bounces off of you, as does the third vodka orange juice, and suddenly, you feel perfectly grounded 30000 feet up.
It’s only a joke that they kill people for smoking in elevators, the man from Boston says.
Okay, now you really have to use the restroom.
You still feel the bumps and bounces of economy class, but they start to feel less important.
Everything feels less important.
And that’s how I get through it.
It shouldn’t take that, and that’s where awareness comes in — awareness of your own mental health and why it matters so, so much.
In the end, it really didn’t matter what forty strangers thought on a flight to Cambodia. Reading these thoughts now — a month later — I feel sorry for the “me” that flew in this state of mind. It doesn’t feel like “me.” It feels like my brain was taken over by vodka-hoarding aliens. Experiencing this level of anxiety is miserable, and I need to find a way to fix it. I owe it to myself to be the happiest version of me that I can be — sans vodka. Or with ALL the vodka. Whatever feels right. I know it’s going to take time, but it’s something I need to dedicate myself to.
If you’re reading this and it feels familiar in any sense, I hope you give yourself the grace to have bad days, good days, and days so good that you forget what anxiety is for a hot minute. Accept that, on some days, we do whatever we have to do to get through the day. Other days are for strong, impenetrable minds and personal growth. And that’s okay.
Yesterday: Not so hot.
Today: Anxiety? We don’t know her.