noflyingfan
09-05-2006, 05:08 PM
After several great flights with little or no nervousness, I booked my tickets to Philadelphia a few months ago without a second thought. I knew that it couldn't be that easy, that there would be setbacks as I get over this fear, but I hadn't been hit with one until this past weekend.
I posted last week that I was getting nervous about the trip, because I had so many other things I was stressing about that I didn't have a chance to mentally prepare myself for the flight or even get excited for the trip. And I think that's what hurt me here. I was on high stress alert all week about everything from work to getting things done around the house to packing and getting ready for the trip, getting to the airport, etc., that when I finally did get to the airport, I wasn't able to come down off of it.
I sat where I always like to sit -- the row directly behind the exit row. That way, if something happens, I know I am close to an exit, but I don't have to worry about freaking out and not being able to open the doors or anything.
Then for some reason, I snapped. My heart started pounding, and I was sure that I was on a doomed plane. I have never been tempted to walk off of a flight, but that day, I was closer than ever. If Matt hadn't been with me, I'm not sure I wouldn't have (although I'm not sure I would have, because I've never read a thread on here from anyone who said, "I'm glad I walked off").
I started to think about terrorists and was sure there was one somewhere on my plane. It would be the perfect plot, I thought. Holiday weekend, a lot of people flying, and Southwest is a very popular airline, one people have a lot of confidence in because it doesn't have the stigma of United and American, thanks to 9-11, the anniversary of which is very soon. Plus we weren't going a huge distance or flying internationally, and that's what people are worried about these days, so it might be an easy target.
I started to mentally take stock of my life and think of the things that I've done and the things that I haven't done yet. I thought about my family, and my friends, and about the folks on TF, and I wondered what you all would say when you found out. I hadn't had such morbid thoughts in a long, long time. And I can't explain it; this panic, it was instantaneous. Some plane out there has to be next, I thought, and there's no reason it shouldn't be mine.
The thing is, I have never been that afraid of terrorism before. I've always been afraid of the freak accident or the we-didn't-know-this-could-happen-so-we-haven't-fixed-the-problem-yet issues, but terrorism hasn't been all that threatening in my mind. I guess I just assumed that because the authorities have thwarted a bunch of attempts, they are going to continue to do so, and that passengers have gotten observant and smart enough to stand up for themselves should anything look strange. But for some reason, that day, none of that comforted me. I was sure there was a terrorist on my plane.
As we left the gate, I thought to myself, "well, you can't get off the plane now, this is your fate and your choice," and I actually started to feel a little bit better. It's that illusion of control thing. If I make it seem like dying in a terrorist attack is my idea, then maybe it won't be so bad, and the pain can only last, what, a few minutes, tops?
Then, for the first time, it occurred to me that maybe, just maybe, there was no terrorist on my plane. After all, what evidence did I have that there was a terrorist on my plane? Was there someone on the plane with a name tag that said, "Hello, My Name Is Terrorist" or a box marked "bomb"? No. Someone who looks like a terrorist? Well, what does a terrorist look like? (More on that coming in Part Two).
As we were zooming down the runway to take off, I got angry. Very angry. At myself, for being scared, at terrorists, for their continued attempts to kill innocent people (what threat am I to them? I'm no one!) at governments for being so...government-y, at just about everything and everyone.
Then we lifted off the ground, and it all disappeared. It was really the most acute case of anticipatory anxiety I have ever experienced, because it was that fast. Gone. All of a sudden, I was in familiar territory again. This is what takeoff was supposed to feel like, and it was like, hey, wait a second, maybe I was wrong and flying really is normal after all! Eureka!
I didn't get to see the city as we took off, and that disappointed me. It's so pretty taking off from Midway heading east, because you go over downtown and then over Lake Michigan, but it was overcast, so all I saw were a bunch of clouds. But before I knew it, we were cruising, and everything was normal again.
Near the end of the flight, I got up to go to the bathroom, and as I came out, one of the FAs asked if I needed anything. I asked for a little glass of water, and then I stood talking to him and another FA for about 10-15 minutes. I told them that I'm a nervous flyer, but that I have the utmost confidence in Southwest and that I love flying with them because they're so friendly, and they were very kind. One FA even told me he used to be a Chicago cop, which made me feel even safer.
We got tossed around a bit coming in to land, and although I was startled, I wasn't scared. I never felt like I was in any real danger; I wasn't checking the wings to see if they'd fallen off or anything like that.
We landed safely, and that was that.
Surprise, surprise. Flying really is normal after all.
I posted last week that I was getting nervous about the trip, because I had so many other things I was stressing about that I didn't have a chance to mentally prepare myself for the flight or even get excited for the trip. And I think that's what hurt me here. I was on high stress alert all week about everything from work to getting things done around the house to packing and getting ready for the trip, getting to the airport, etc., that when I finally did get to the airport, I wasn't able to come down off of it.
I sat where I always like to sit -- the row directly behind the exit row. That way, if something happens, I know I am close to an exit, but I don't have to worry about freaking out and not being able to open the doors or anything.
Then for some reason, I snapped. My heart started pounding, and I was sure that I was on a doomed plane. I have never been tempted to walk off of a flight, but that day, I was closer than ever. If Matt hadn't been with me, I'm not sure I wouldn't have (although I'm not sure I would have, because I've never read a thread on here from anyone who said, "I'm glad I walked off").
I started to think about terrorists and was sure there was one somewhere on my plane. It would be the perfect plot, I thought. Holiday weekend, a lot of people flying, and Southwest is a very popular airline, one people have a lot of confidence in because it doesn't have the stigma of United and American, thanks to 9-11, the anniversary of which is very soon. Plus we weren't going a huge distance or flying internationally, and that's what people are worried about these days, so it might be an easy target.
I started to mentally take stock of my life and think of the things that I've done and the things that I haven't done yet. I thought about my family, and my friends, and about the folks on TF, and I wondered what you all would say when you found out. I hadn't had such morbid thoughts in a long, long time. And I can't explain it; this panic, it was instantaneous. Some plane out there has to be next, I thought, and there's no reason it shouldn't be mine.
The thing is, I have never been that afraid of terrorism before. I've always been afraid of the freak accident or the we-didn't-know-this-could-happen-so-we-haven't-fixed-the-problem-yet issues, but terrorism hasn't been all that threatening in my mind. I guess I just assumed that because the authorities have thwarted a bunch of attempts, they are going to continue to do so, and that passengers have gotten observant and smart enough to stand up for themselves should anything look strange. But for some reason, that day, none of that comforted me. I was sure there was a terrorist on my plane.
As we left the gate, I thought to myself, "well, you can't get off the plane now, this is your fate and your choice," and I actually started to feel a little bit better. It's that illusion of control thing. If I make it seem like dying in a terrorist attack is my idea, then maybe it won't be so bad, and the pain can only last, what, a few minutes, tops?
Then, for the first time, it occurred to me that maybe, just maybe, there was no terrorist on my plane. After all, what evidence did I have that there was a terrorist on my plane? Was there someone on the plane with a name tag that said, "Hello, My Name Is Terrorist" or a box marked "bomb"? No. Someone who looks like a terrorist? Well, what does a terrorist look like? (More on that coming in Part Two).
As we were zooming down the runway to take off, I got angry. Very angry. At myself, for being scared, at terrorists, for their continued attempts to kill innocent people (what threat am I to them? I'm no one!) at governments for being so...government-y, at just about everything and everyone.
Then we lifted off the ground, and it all disappeared. It was really the most acute case of anticipatory anxiety I have ever experienced, because it was that fast. Gone. All of a sudden, I was in familiar territory again. This is what takeoff was supposed to feel like, and it was like, hey, wait a second, maybe I was wrong and flying really is normal after all! Eureka!
I didn't get to see the city as we took off, and that disappointed me. It's so pretty taking off from Midway heading east, because you go over downtown and then over Lake Michigan, but it was overcast, so all I saw were a bunch of clouds. But before I knew it, we were cruising, and everything was normal again.
Near the end of the flight, I got up to go to the bathroom, and as I came out, one of the FAs asked if I needed anything. I asked for a little glass of water, and then I stood talking to him and another FA for about 10-15 minutes. I told them that I'm a nervous flyer, but that I have the utmost confidence in Southwest and that I love flying with them because they're so friendly, and they were very kind. One FA even told me he used to be a Chicago cop, which made me feel even safer.
We got tossed around a bit coming in to land, and although I was startled, I wasn't scared. I never felt like I was in any real danger; I wasn't checking the wings to see if they'd fallen off or anything like that.
We landed safely, and that was that.
Surprise, surprise. Flying really is normal after all.