Following a rushed shower and an even speedier fifteen minute stroll to the train station, I scrambled aboard this morning’s 7am service from Brighton to Bedford with just a minute to spare, found my usual seat across from the guy who eats bananas (yuck) and next to the woman who wears red lipstick a shade too vibrant at that time of day, and shook open my morning copy of the Metro.
The usual stories are there: man milks seal, fuel prices up, house prices down, we’re all going to starve, die or burn. I read the horoscopes, the comic strips and a review of last night’s TV. The usual columnist appears to be on holiday; how dare he. By the time I’ve completed this morning ritual, I will have reached Three Bridges, the stop before… (insert scary music here or duh duh duuuuuhhhh! as appropriate)
If you haven’t guessed already, I have a minor fear of flying. Indeed, I long ago swore off the possibility that I could ever board a plane again. However, what I did not take into account when I took my poxy job in London a year ago was that I would encounter aeroplanes twice a day, five days a week, in crushingly close proximity by necessity.
As the train approaches the Gatwick Airport station stop I find myself peering out of the window at an oncoming plane, whose ability to stay in the sky is based entirely on theory alone, as it brushes inches above the carriage as it comes in to land.
What follows is, I’m sure, the result of an over-fertile imagination. I envisage the plane losing control at the last minute of its descent and then crashing nose first into the train, blowing bits of metal and body everywhere, shattering glass into the faces and arms and legs of the poor passengers as the plane carves the train carriage in half. Panic ensues. Those who have survived in the carriages on either end of the impact point begin to scream as it slowly dawns on them what has happened, and they wander, helpless, out onto the platform to survey the damage…
And so on and so forth. It’s amazing what your mind can cook up if you let it.
So, in a bid to stop the inevitable plane crash from occurring, I tap my head twice, cross my fingers and screw up my eyes until I can feel the train leaving the platform, and we are alive and well.
This is the way I deal with all bad thoughts: two taps to the head. In my mind, this prevents bad thoughts from becoming a reality, for example, massive train and plane collisions, television explosions, knife crime-related deaths, et cetera.
Is it normal for people with OCD to combat bad thoughts with routine to stop them from happening? Yes. Is this an utterly egotistical thought process that assumes you have control over yours, and everyone else’s, destiny? That’s a different story
1 comment:
And I thought I was the only person who suffered from panic attacks. Never thought about using a technique - that's good. One morning I was convinced for no good reason that the bus driver was going to crash on the way to London. These things usually work out but you know, once the idea gets planted..........
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