MY FOOLISH OLDER BROTHER lent his Ford Falcon to his even dumber little brother. Woohoo! So much power, so fast, compared to my ancient asthmatic Humber 80. On Tunnel Hill between Swanson and Waitakere, I put my foot down and roared up the slope. I got to the top, took my foot off the gas … and the engine kept screaming. The accelerator was jammed fully on. Suddenly, I was over the crest and flying down the other side at terrifying speed. I turned the key off (fortunately not locking the steering) and was able to slow up enough to get around the bend at the bottom.
When I got back to the orchard, I blurted to my brother, “The accelerator jammed! It nearly killed me!” His eyes narrowed accusingly: “Yes. It does that. But only when you push the pedal hard to the floor!” Sprung. I’d been thrashing his car, and he knew it.
That little story (which was very nearly my last ever story) might make an analogy that I hope isn’t too twee. (Actually, using ‘twee’ is pretty twee in itself). Because my brother knew his car’s fault, it wasn’t a problem for him; he just had to avoid driving like his hoony, teenage brother. I’ll complete the analogy about four paragraphs further on.
Years later, I took the family to Disneyland. I stuck it on the mortgage, so I am still paying for burgers the kids ate back in 2005. With cumulative interest, each mouthful has probably cost me about $50. A fantastic trip. One night in the hotel, my wife said, “Wouldn’t it be tragic if someone went to all the effort to get here and then felt homesick.” She rolled over and went to sleep, and I stared at the ceiling – feeling panicky and homesick.
I have travel agoraphobia – an intense sense of fear that I might be trapped in an unfamiliar place – made considerably worse by another issue: wanderlust. I so want to see the world, but when I get to the world, I so want to get home again. Tell me how illogical that is. But phobias have no interest in logic or facts. In the same way a fitted sheet refuses to be folded in an orderly way, my mind refuses to be flattened down neatly by reason and common sense but wrinkles up and flaps around with untidy irrational dreads. Phobias leapfrog over facts straight into imaginary dangers. That doesn’t surprise any of you – most people have at least one irrational fear gumming up their otherwise perfectly logical brain.
But I have never let my travel jitters stop me travelling, and I’ve actually travelled a lot. When I am preparing for a trip, I know I am going to be uncomfortably cramped in the plane, I know I am going to be exhausted by jet lag, and I also know that there may be times of panicky fear. So be it. I want to see the world. Therefore, I pack my passport, my undies and the cat (actually, the cat packs itself … every time it sees the suitcase), and I pack my phobia. I unpack the cat, but Aggie the Agoraphobia stays in the bag and will be my constant companion. Even if the logical part of my brain can’t conquer my phobia, it can at least slap a label on it, and that makes it so much easier to handle.
I was in China, and I recall part of me was marvelling at the mountains of the Tibetan Plateau, and another part of me was fizzing with anxiety. “That’s just your travel agoraphobia”, said my logic. “You know what it is. You know it is not telling you the truth. You know it passes. Ride it out”. “Thanks, Logic!” I thought and had another cup of yak-butter tea, which is just as delicious as it sounds.
Naming my phobia when I feel it really helps me. (I doubt those with a fear of long words would be helped by labelling their phobia, though: “I just have hippopotomonstrosesquippedaliophobia. Aaargh!”)
At last, the analogy: My quirky brain is like the sticky accelerator in my brother’s Falcon. I know my mind can get stuck, that it can race away on me. But because I know the problem, I can work around it. I can manage my sleep and stress and try not to get too over-caffeinated or worn out. Most of all, if I do feel that crawling sensation of anxiety, I know it’s just Aggie, and she doesn’t scare me anymore.
Maybe your mental health challenges are greater than mine, and what works for me might be completely inadequate for you. If that’s the case, you have my sincere sympathies. I also strongly believe that ‘help helps’: the right support and therapy can open the door to a brighter and fuller future.
AFTER DECADES STUDYING FAMILY LIFE, JOHN NOW FOCUSSES ON THE ‘PRIME-TIME’ ISSUES OF LATER MIDDLE AGE. CHECK HIM OUT ON JOHNCOWAN.CO.NZ – ESPECIALLY IF YOU NEED SOME WRITING, EVENT SPEAKING, VIDEOS MADE, OR SOMEONE TO HAVE A COFFEE WITH.
