Too Much for a New Job

    I am woken up when the plane starts trembling, like someone’s hands before a speech they are nervous about giving. To me, it feels just like driving a car on a badly-built road, the small rocks and uneven cement on the ground causing the car to jump up and down. Except for that there is no badly-built road when you are on an airplane, so it is slightly unsettling to me when these two instances feel very similar.

    It is just a turbulence, it happens, my rational side tells me. Yeah, that makes sense. It will probably pass in a minute or so.

    I try to only focus on that rational side and to not slip over to the anxiety-inducing and torturous irrational side where all my dark thoughts occur. If I get sucked in there once, I won’t be able to get out until either everything is fine, or until I die, and I know it.

    I try, but in a matter of seconds, I fail. The turbulence is not stopping, and I can’t help but get pushed forcefully over to the irrational side. I just wanted to go to this interview to get a job. Too much for wanting a better job. 

Well, if you die, you won’t need a job. 

No! Stop! The plane won’t crash, and we won’t die today. Look at everyone else, feeling perfectly calm and going about whatever they are doing. Why do you have to be like this? 

Because the plane is shaking and that is not normal and it means it will soon fall and crash and die. 

No, it doesn’t mean that. It just means there is a lot of wind outside or something. They told us that there might be turbulences, and there are. That is perfectly normal.

Well, I don’t care what they said. I say we will crash and die.

…

…

The shaking continues as I start to lose my rationality and fall into what my irrational side says. My stomach starts to compress into itself, my heart beats faster, and I start to hyperventilate, as a side effect of my terrifying thoughts. I have no idea what to do at this point. It feels too late for a few deep breaths to help my thoughts, which are getting darker and darker with every second, to calm down.

I decide to try prayer, thinking it might help.Then, it hits me that I don’t know how to pray. I don’t know what to say to make myself feel better or make this torture end. Well, I should probably try anyway. Maybe it will do something.

“Dear God or whomever you may be, please end this shaking and my irrational thoughts. I can’t deal with them anymore. I just want to get to my job interview in D.C. and I want to get the job and have a better life. Please help me,” I whisper and continue to go on to list all the things I want to have and don’t want to have.

As my prayers get faster and faster, I feel my heart compressing into itself and my stomach doing the same. It is not helping. Nothing is helping. I am doomed. Gravity feels stronger than it ever did before, and this time, it pulls me down towards the floor, and I can do nothing to go against it. Then, I sleep.

***

“Excuse me, sir. You have to exit the plane.” A voice.

What happened? Where am I? Oh, right, the plane. Wait, I have to exit? Does that mean we crashed? But I am not dead. So…

“Everyone else already left. We have to get everything ready for the next flight. So, I will have to kindly ask you to take all your possessions and deboard the plane right now,” says the same voice, which is coming from a flight attendant with a stern face. I quickly pick myself up and get my bags.

Once I am at the airport, I take a deep breath. Inhale. Wait. Exhale. Relief rushes over me as I finally feel myself calm down at the exhale. Once I feel better, I start to make my way down towards the exit. I need to get to my hotel and get some quality sleep.

I walk through long halls and doors in between, until at last, I get to the exit, and go through it. The cold night air outside gives me goosebumps. I start walking down the sidewalk to find a taxi ride to my hotel. I see one that looks available, so I put my hand up, and it pulls over. I get in.

“Where to?” the driver asks right away.

“Uh…” I give him the address after checking on my phone.

“D.C., you say?”

“Yeah, why do you ask? I mean, you must know this place pretty well, right?” I raise an eyebrow.

“I know this place well alright. It’s just that this place isn’t Washington D.C.,” the driver says matter-of-factly.

“What do you mean?” I feel my stomach churning.

“What I mean is, welcome to Seattle, Washington, my friend, the opposite side of where you want to be and wish you were right now.”

“...You have to be kidding.”

“...”