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11/5/1999 Friday Bemused by: The TV ads for the new movie, Sleepy Hollow, which opens later this month. It sure doesn't look like the Washington Irving story I read! Still, it's hard to go wrong with a movie directed by Tim Burton and starring Johnny Depp. |
The Fear Itself
Last night I was driving north up Route 1 to pick up Tab. Route 1 is a heavily traveled corridor running from central to northern New Jersey. Between Lawrenceville and Princeton, Route 1 is an overcrowded six-lane highway; driving it during the morning and afternoon rush hours can be challenging, if not downright perilous. Most of the evening traffic is south-bound, however, so I was able to zip along at a good pace, just a shade over the speed limit. I was in the far left lane, passing the slower moving cars, when I spotted a few red brake lights up ahead. I had plenty of time to slow down, and I glanced in the mirror to be sure the guy coming up behind me was slowing down too. And then, without warning, I felt an oncoming panic attack. I first had a panic attack while driving about six years ago. I was just south of Philadelphia with Daniel in his infant car seat in the back of the car. We were driving over a bridge when I suddenly found myself afraid that my car would veer off the bridge and tumble into the Schuylkill. My hands grew sweaty and slipped on the wheel no matter how tightly I grasped it. Unbidden, the images just kept coming: the car crashing through the guardrail and tumbling end over end into the water. I felt as though control of the car was being wrested from me, and that what I imagined would happen, no matter how I tried to prevent it. I wanted desperately to pull over to the side of the road and just stop, but I knew if I did, I would never get going again. And then what? I could just imagine calling Tab and tearfully begging him to pick us up on this busy expressway. I knew I had to pull myself together for the sake of Daniel. And I did, and I managed to get home, shaken but otherwise fine. For awhile after that incident, however, I had trouble driving over bridges and overpasses. But it has been several years since my last panic attack, and I never had one on a local road before. All the physical sensations came back in a rush--sweaty palms, rapid breathing--along with the overwhelming fear. I was as disoriented and dizzy as I once felt when, as a child lying on the grass on a summer's evening, I looked up at the sky and imagined I was looking down instead of up. It was as though the thin veil that separates my conscious from unconscious mind had been ripped away, and I realized what I am usually able to ignore while driving: that we are hurtling along at 60 miles per hour with only a thin shell of metal protecting us from all those other vehicles flashing by. Once again, with my children in the car, I knew I couldn't surrender to the fear. I found my panic decreased when I shifted over to the middle and then to the right lane. Finally, we made it to Alexander Road, one of the turn off roads for Princeton, and my panic subsided. I'd hoped that the attack on Route 1 was a one-time event, but I experienced it again this morning after dropping Tab off at work and driving down Route 1 to take Daniel to school. Not as severe as last night's, but just as frightening while it lasted. It was not until I experienced a panic attack for the first time that I understood why some panic disorder sufferers become agoraphobic. Once you've experienced an attack, you would do almost anything to avoid another one; it's the fear of the fear itself. Today I found myself trying to think of alternative routes I could take to avoid Route 1. But I stifled those thoughts as soon as I realized what I was doing. I will not live a life circumscribed by ever-shrinking borders. I am not going to give in to this thing.
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