Buffy Summers (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
whattingawhat) wrote2008-06-05 07:52 pm
whattingawhat) wrote2008-06-05 07:52 pm
Entry tags:
Defunct the strings [Of cemetery things]
[Phobias]
Claustrophobia is an anxiety disorder that involves the fear of enclosed or confined spaces. Apparently ten percent of people screened before an MRI are claustrophobic. Another 7% don’t figure out they’ve got claustrophobia until they’re in the MRI thing and they have TO TERMINATE the procedure at least prematurely. 30% of people report mild distress when they’re in the MRI. And interestingly enough, Wikipedia has buried alive as a link on the Claustrophobia page. All of this is really just me procrastinating. I hate having to admit I have a weakness or that something bothers me.
I’m claustrophobic. Severely so. I don’t ride in elevators, small rooms make me crazy and a tanning bed would send me over the edge. I can make myself ride in an elevator but then I can make myself do anything I want badly enough. I’m not one of those girls that say I can’t. Sorta not in my vocabulary. I just never want to make myself badly enough. It’s not worth it because it brings on nightmares that last for weeks and let’s face it, I have trouble enough sleeping. Purple circles, never a good look on me. I wasn’t always this way. Elevators never made me bat an eyelash but now…it’s the stairs for me. I mean I’d take the elevator if I was going to the top of the Empire State building but I won’t do that to myself. I take nine flights of stairs every day to my apartment and I don’t bat an eyelash at it. The subway bothers me because it’s underground and closed up but I make myself take it occasionally when I’m running late or going too far or it’s cold…things like that. I sleep with the window open and that’s partially a claustrophobia thing. It’s also a rebellion thing. I live with the claustrophobia because I have to. It’s not going away. Probably ever. According to wikipedia (which is not the best information ever I know) there is a 7.2-11.3% lifetime prevalence rate. I’m pretty sure I’m in that percentage.
[Locked from Danny]
So let’s talk about why I’m claustrophobic. On October 2, 2001, Willow raised me from the dead (NO. I’m not a zombie. Living, breathing, mostly human girl) Thing is, she forgot to dig me up first so after a five month dirt nap I wake up, gasping for air. In a closed coffin, you’ve got 2-4 minutes before you pass out from lack of oxygen. 5-15 minutes before you die of asphyxiation. It only took maybe a second for panic to set in and that was probably a good thing because panic and fear drove me. I punched through the top of the coffin, thank PB&J they went for the cheaper wooden box instead of a metal one, and then I clawed my way through six feet of dirt until I’d reached the top. Next time, I want to be cremated. Giles says there’s not much you can do with ashes.
Claustrophobia is an anxiety disorder that involves the fear of enclosed or confined spaces. Apparently ten percent of people screened before an MRI are claustrophobic. Another 7% don’t figure out they’ve got claustrophobia until they’re in the MRI thing and they have TO TERMINATE the procedure at least prematurely. 30% of people report mild distress when they’re in the MRI. And interestingly enough, Wikipedia has buried alive as a link on the Claustrophobia page. All of this is really just me procrastinating. I hate having to admit I have a weakness or that something bothers me.
I’m claustrophobic. Severely so. I don’t ride in elevators, small rooms make me crazy and a tanning bed would send me over the edge. I can make myself ride in an elevator but then I can make myself do anything I want badly enough. I’m not one of those girls that say I can’t. Sorta not in my vocabulary. I just never want to make myself badly enough. It’s not worth it because it brings on nightmares that last for weeks and let’s face it, I have trouble enough sleeping. Purple circles, never a good look on me. I wasn’t always this way. Elevators never made me bat an eyelash but now…it’s the stairs for me. I mean I’d take the elevator if I was going to the top of the Empire State building but I won’t do that to myself. I take nine flights of stairs every day to my apartment and I don’t bat an eyelash at it. The subway bothers me because it’s underground and closed up but I make myself take it occasionally when I’m running late or going too far or it’s cold…things like that. I sleep with the window open and that’s partially a claustrophobia thing. It’s also a rebellion thing. I live with the claustrophobia because I have to. It’s not going away. Probably ever. According to wikipedia (which is not the best information ever I know) there is a 7.2-11.3% lifetime prevalence rate. I’m pretty sure I’m in that percentage.
[Locked from Danny]
So let’s talk about why I’m claustrophobic. On October 2, 2001, Willow raised me from the dead (NO. I’m not a zombie. Living, breathing, mostly human girl) Thing is, she forgot to dig me up first so after a five month dirt nap I wake up, gasping for air. In a closed coffin, you’ve got 2-4 minutes before you pass out from lack of oxygen. 5-15 minutes before you die of asphyxiation. It only took maybe a second for panic to set in and that was probably a good thing because panic and fear drove me. I punched through the top of the coffin, thank PB&J they went for the cheaper wooden box instead of a metal one, and then I clawed my way through six feet of dirt until I’d reached the top. Next time, I want to be cremated. Giles says there’s not much you can do with ashes.