For a journalism paper a few weeks ago, I was given the loose prompt to do something that scares me and come back with a story. I decided to lock myself in my dorm room's coat closet for an hour. My teacher asked if I was okay, being that the longest a previous student ever crammed themselves into a tight space was fifteen minutes. After the hour was up, I grabbed my computer and started writing.

I am extremely claustrophobic to the point where I can’t stand in elevators, or give hugs, without having a wave of anxiety rush up my spine. I get really nervous if people are close to my personal space and I’m uncomfortable if I have to stay in one place for long periods of time. My mom told me that part of the strife of her parenting was that I didn’t accept her hugs until I was two or three years old. I was born three moths premature, and I was put inside of an incubator for the first few months of my life.

I have met people with same fear and the same intensity as me, but I feel that my prematurity is the cause of mine. I decided to face this by locking myself in a coat closet for an hour. The coat closet is in my room and is about 3 feet wide and 8 feet tall. There is a shelf that protrudes about 5 feet up the back wall. Only one of my roommates was home, he barricaded me in the closet, and walked into his room to do homework. I had no phone, no flashlight, no way out. The dorm lay silent.

I started off on the floor. Inside the closet were two winter coats, five coat hangers, a box for our deep fryer and a small vacuum. I sat adjacent to the door. The only way to sit comfortably was to put the box on my lap and allow my bent knees to bang against the door and back wall. Immediately, I was breathing fast. The worst thing was the light that shined under the door. I don’t know why I hated it, but I really freaking hated it. Maybe it was because the light symbolized freedom and it was goddamn dark in that closet. I could only see my feet. I felt my hands near my face, and saw the outlines of them, but that’s the extent of what I could see.

After a while, my heart rate started to slow down, and I became calm. I didn’t want this because I had the idea in the back of my head that facing my fear like this could miraculously break me out of being claustrophobic. I fought with the walls to stand up. Instantly, my legs turned to Jell-O. I struggled to stand, which was odd because I was only sitting for maybe ten minutes or so. I bounced off the back wall of the closet and finally settled myself by standing underneath the shelf, while gripping it with my hands. I felt faint. My stomach twisted, I shut my eyes and nauseously swayed until my legs gave out. I leaned to the left against the side wall as my eyes started to water. I kept trying to pull myself to a standing position, control my breathing, and not puke, all at the same time.

After about three or four falls, I finally sat to take a breather. I was trembling at this point. My head was literally in my hands as I slumped in the corner. I kept trying to hide myself from the light underneath the door. I assumed that maybe I was at the halfway point. It was a weird euphoric experience. It was like my brain was on acid, but my body was drunk. I was semi-hallucinating but also couldn’t control my body. I was lightheaded, shaking and audibly moaning. The only one who listened was the silent hallway who taunted me with the torture of light and freedom only a turn of the doorknob away. But the door was barricaded by two chairs pushed against each other, which was enough to fill the space between the hallway and the door that was weighed down by random heavy crap. I wasn’t going to get out, and I knew it. My roommate had me test the door before I entered my own personal hell. I was trapped.

I blankly looked upward at a shelf I knew was there but couldn’t see. I told myself to get up and stand again. I started crying as I grabbed for the wall and forced my way up. The same thing happened: nausea, loss of balance, gurgling stomach. I think that in facing my fear, the intensity of putting myself in this situation was causing my body to shut down. In my second standing session, I felt my gaze start to freeze, and no matter how hard I held the shelf, I continued to fall to the ground.

I still got up. Soaked in sweat, I shook like I was standing in snow with no clothes on. I took another seat in my corner and softly cried it out. I calmed down and stood up again. This time I felt nothing. No lightheadedness, no body sway. I took my hands away from the shelf and put them at my sides. This brought some of the nausea back, but I didn’t fall this time.

I thought it was over. I thought I conquered my fear. I became impatient. My body tingled with anxiety, enough that I started to shake again. I thought of knocking on the door and ending my experiment. I originally agreed to stay in the closet for two hours instead of one. I had enough at this point and just wanted to be free again. I didn’t sit in the corner again, but I was getting scared my how much my heart was racing. I didn’t cure my claustrophobia, I probably only got through one phase of it. I started to feel the symptoms from before, but insanely more intense. I hear footsteps accompanied by a voice singing a song. It’s my roommate offering freedom after an hour of torture. He forgot about me and the hour time limit had passed twenty minutes ago. He unblocked the door to my asylum and I burst out and using my newly found hands, I blocked the light from my face.