I have nothing against Ryan Reynolds, but Buried is one movie I can never watch. I feel just as confined, trapped and anxious in much larger spaces than the underground tomb in which Ryan’s character is buried. Especially when one of my stupid panic attacks hits me from out of the blue.
I seems that even Ryan Reynolds had an attack triggered by the filing.
“I was enclosed in there and I had my moments of utter panic that were soothed in different ways. There were times when I couldn’t get in and out of the coffin with any kind of ease so I just had to stay in there with 50, 60, 70 pounds of wood pressing against me, so I started to have a moment of panic.
“One woman was playing all the roles on the other end of the phone, so I had a microphone very close to my chest and she would hear a panic attack starting because she could hear my heart rate accelerating when we weren’t shooting.
“She would talk to me about wide open spaces, meadows, trees and esoteric stuff that would just chill me out and allow me to keep doing the job. I’m a big guy, so I tend to lean a little bit more towards claustrophobia than most.”
I am certain that my panic attacks were caused by emotional trauma I experienced in recent years. It feels like a nasty bug I can’t get rid off. Now I just want to now get rid of the problem myself, and without any brain altering chemicals with all their side effects. Again ironically due to my control issues. What I feel is this:
The space you’re in seems suddenly confined. For me it’s a vehicle. Too confined and the air limited. Thoughts race through my head at lightning pace. Too fast for me to moderate. They are my own thoughts, but seem to come from some place I have absolutely no control over. I hope writing them down will make it a concrete thing and help me somehow. Unless you’ve had a similar occurrence, it will sound like gibberish, because it sort of, is. As you can tell, it’s not just fear, but embarrassment that is the overwhelming emotion.
Thoughts That Run Through My Head During a Situational Claustrophobic Panic Attack
There is not enough air to breathe.
My mind is tricking me into thinking there is not enough air. It is irrational.
But there is not enough air in this small space. Why do I physically feel suffocated?
Oh no. It’s happening again. My hands are clammy. My heart is racing. Pounding. I need to slow it down. I am suffocating. I will die.
Not enough air is getting to me and I can’t breathe. Why is the DJ on the radio yelling at me. Too loud. The noise on the radio is caving in on me like a wall. Noise feels like a wall trapping me. I can’t hear myself. I need to hear myself to get the good thoughts to block out the bad. Negative thoughts are overwhelming. They take over. The window panes are too near my face. It feels as small as a goldfish bowl. I can’t get out but I really need to get out or I will die. My chest feels so tight. Please I need to get out. I wish I could get out.
What if I can’t get out. I need to be in control. I am going to be embarrassed. Luckily no one else is here. Or it will be more embarrassing. Maybe I can get through this and it won’t get worse. Stop these thoughts. Why can’t I stop these thoughts? I need to get in control. Think of something else. You can’t breathe. Not enough air. No oxygen. Only carbon dioxide (so ridiculous when I think of the thoughts that race through my head now)
I have to try to divert my attention. I hope I don’t flip out and embarrass myself. I don’t want anyone to think I ‘m a freak. Even though I am. I hate being not normal. I am sure my people are embarrassed by me, just as I am mortified by my lack of control of my own mind. Some tell me I think too much. I know I have a wild imagination, but I wouldn’t do this to myself voluntarily. It’s pure torture and I am not that masochistic.
I was never like this – ever. I used to be fine.