Back underground with the rats
This morning I free falled back down into terror. It was all too familiar, and took me back AGAIN. I was late. There were no tubes on the board. When it did finally arrive it was a sardine tin. I just couldn't get on. Immediately I felt dissapointed with myself, a failure. The next one arrived, slightly emptier, I got on but I was already feeling sick. I stood in 'my spot' like I always do. I have to be where I was that day, I haven't travelled on any other part of the tube yet. Silly supersticion but I can't crack it.
By the time we got to Arsenal (1 stop) I wanted to get off. My 'shrink's' voice was echoing in my head 'you have to ride through the anxiety'.....don't get off, don't get off, I was telling myself. the train filled up quickly, it was as packed as that day. I tried not to look up so that I didn't actually register how crowded it was, but I still knew. We arrived at Kings Cross, I was shaking and feeling sick. Then there was an announcement 'if there are any London Transport Police in the station can they please come up to the platform'. 'Oh God, what is happening?'.....still I stayed on. I thought of Steve, the policemen who rescued us (now an MBE & our 'hero' and I felt a bit calmer). The train kept stopping in tunnels, I didn't wast to put my ipod on in case I missed anything. If something happened I wanted to hear it, be aware, be ready to react.
Gradually the crowds started to thin, I managed to get a seat. I was brething heavily, I could feel my teeth chattering and my hands shaking. I finally arrived at South Ken, I ran up the escelators gasping for fresh air, I couldn't breathe under there. I came out into the daylight, dazzled, shaking, relieved and I DIDN'T have a fag!