This post is can probably be categorized under TMI.
In the last three weeks, I have acquired what I really can only describe as an autophobia -- a fear of cars. Perhaps it would be better described as a viaphobia -- a fear of getting from one place to the next, but that sounds less provocative.
It's a completely irrational fear, but it manifests itself in very palpable ways. I have not gotten in a car in the last three weeks without breaking out into cold sweats, having panic attacks, and experiencing a terror I've never really known before (except perhaps for one time when I tried to enter my high school chapel in the dark, but that's another story).
It's rather embarrassing, especially since my new, more rural surroundings demand automotive transportation for virtually any activity. But, as I hinted before, it isn't simply cars. During a trip to Washington, D.C. two weeks, I almost passed out on the Metro. It was a bit alarming for Isabel. It happened twice during a forty minute drive. In fact, I even had an episode taking a walk around my apartment community this weekend.
Isabel can tell when the affliction comes on because my palms become clammy and I suddenly stop talking about Tolkien or even Transformers...and I start nervously looking for a place to answer nature's call.
And from whence does this sudden terror strike? As far as I can tell, it is some kind of post-traumatic stress from, of all things, potty emergencies while driving to and from Isabel's parents' house down in MD. By now, my late-night emergency stop at a bar on the Maryland Line has become somewhat legendary. At first, it was a kind of amusing tale I could tell, and I wouldn't say it affected me too much psychologically. But then I encountered its sequel a month later...which, in turn, has left me experiencing the aforementioned stomach churns, cold sweats, and shortness of breath every time I step in a car. It has also left me with chronic IBS on any day that I anticipate driving...or simply being in a situation that demands my attention. I pretty much single-handedly ruined 4h of July since my stomach refused to settle down enough to where I'd feel comfortable going to a park for two hours. Just last night, I almost turned the car around three times on my way to daily Mass. I'm supposed to be making a trip down to MD today and have already had four trips to the restroom in under two hours.
This is base stuff, the crude matter of Chaucerian comedy...but I think it warrants a blog post for two reasons. First, it is an apology to everyone who is being adversely affected by my seemingly sudden, inexplicable reluctance to actually go anywhere.
Second, I think there is some philosophical merit to be had in reflecting on this problem.
Although it's a rather absurd cross, it has certainly created an exercise in humility for me. I mean, seriously, what can be more humbling than having to admit an urgency to poop?
Obviously, I'm not suggesting that God wants me to have IBS or has afflicted me with such a ridiculous psychological anxiety -- but there are few things that can better remind the creature of his inferior and subordinate relationship to the Creator than base physical necessity and, well, fear.
It's easy to get too big for your britches when you are in my line of work, especially with its emphasis on scholarly accomplishment and competition. It's a very ego-driven field. It's also easy to develop an inflated sense of self-worth when you spend a year living in isolation, free to do as you please (and this is probably the part where the psychoanalyst suggests that this is all stemming from wedding stress).
But what more potent slavery can man really experience than slavery to a rebellious body? And when that body's rebellion brings with it a terror in the mind, what greater slavery can their be than that? The Roman Stoics argued (not entirely effectively in my opinion) that mental slavery far outweighed physical slavery. I'm not sure that those in chains would agree, but I see their point.
Anyway, my hope is that this is a temporary thing (if it isn't, then I better buy a bigger TV). I've been forcing myself to drive two or three times a day making a rapid succession of prayers until I get to where I'm headed (I wasn't kidding in the previous post when I said it was a miracle any time I get home without incident). Just driving a mere five minutes to the grocery store fills me with dread, and I have to start timing my breathing if I'm stuck at a red light. It isn't pretty. I've also been taking some more practical precautions -- like not eating before drives and (sigh) increasing fiber in my diet.
If, with God's grace, I can overcome such a silly and yet terrifying problem now (assuming this isn't a symptom of a serious gastroenterological disorder requiring treatment), maybe I'll have greater peace of mind and confidence to confront real problems that are bound to start heading my way in the near future.
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