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Holy shit, people. I’m getting on an airplane.

If you have read this blog for a while, you know that this is a big deal. I had severe, SEVERE anxiety about flying. (Please don’t be the one to comment that driving is more dangerous than flying. That’s like telling a fat person that Big Macs are bad for you. I FUCKING KNOW ALREADY.) I used to have panic attacks if I drove near LAX. On one occasion, I was stuck in traffic on the 405 (what’s new) around Culver City. This particular area is where the planes that are landing fly over VERY LOW. I don’t think I have to tell you, that it’s a good thing traffic was stopped, so I could close my eyes and hyperventilate without crashing my car. It was not a good feeling.

But a strange thing started happening about a year and a half ago. As weight started coming off, all these things started changing. The social anxiety that I had was getting better, and I didn’t crap my pants every time I had to go some place new, or go somewhere by myself. Hell, I even joined a knitting group, where I had to walk up and introduce myself to total strangers. This was something that, four years ago, I would have NEVER done, no matter how much I wanted to learn to knit. I would rather stay home, or be in my comfort zone, full of people and places that I knew.

I realize that so much of my fear of flying was tied to my weight. I was afraid that I would be too fat for the seat that I would have to buy two. Or suffer the humiliation of having to ask for one of those seatbelt extenders. Of having to deal with the groans from the people sitting next to me that didn’t want to be stuck next to the fat person. If I created this phobia in my mind, I wouldn’t have to deal with all those things, and therefore, it would never happen. That, of course, is insane. But it was what was happening in my head, and my logical mind couldn’t stop it from happening. It snowballed, and that’s where the panic attacks came in.

As my relationship with Scott started developing, and getting stronger, I knew that I wanted to visit him, and see the things he saw every day. I wanted to see the places that I had only seen in pictures, and be with him in his surroundings and not mine, for a change. And for the first time, the idea of having to fly to be there didn’t make me cringe, and it didn’t send me into convulsions of panic and dread.

Don’t get me wrong - when I get on that airplane, I am still going to be nervous (and HEAVILY MEDICATED). I am smart enough to know that after all this time, I’m not going to just stroll up to the plane with a smile on my face and be completely unaware of the fact that I was so fearful of this for the five or so hours it will take to get there. I know that it probably won’t be easy, but I’ll be so drunk and/or doped up (which should be good, since it’s at nine in the morning) that I  hopefully won’t know any better.

So, if you hear any faint screams that sound like they’re coming from the sky on November 7th, that’ll be me.