The airport lobby is clear, people are sparse and the check in stand is completely free.

Security is easy-going, the lines are nonexistent, there’s not a single issue going through.

I see my gate, it isn’t too far away.

I find a seat right away, and everything is going smoothly.

I board with ease, find my seat, and feel content that I can get through this flight without any problem.

Then, only minutes after I sit down, all hell breaks loose with one sentence.

“Ma’am, I’m sorry to say this, but we’re going to have to ask you to move seats.”

As a person who suffers from severe anxiety over flying, this is the worst thing that can happen to me before taking off. My mind is set and comfortable with where I’m at. I’ve had time to adjust to where I’m sitting, because I knew where I’d be sitting weeks in advance, and not even the stranger sitting next to me can bother my good mood.

Then, I’m asked to move, and everything shatters.

I’m moved from the second row, where I have everything that’s important to me at my feet, to the front row, where I’m forced to stow away my backpack and everything that I need half way across the plane from me.

I move with shaky hands, my eyes are stinging with fresh tears, and my heart is racing. I know that if I don’t calm down soon, a panic attack is going to start.

So, I move, and then the flight attendant tells me she needs to take my bag.

I nod with no words spoken, and she takes my bag after I grab my book and curl away from the old man I had been seated next to.

I frantically text anyone I can as tears stream down my face. At this moment in time, I don’t care that the man sitting next to me is looking at me with wide eyes, I just want off the plane.

My mother assures me that I’ll be okay, that I can make it.

My boyfriend tells me to listen to music, look through old photos, do whatever it takes to get my mind to stop reeling.

My best friend tells me to take deep breaths, that I need to get my heart rate down.

I’m getting so many different responses that I only start to panic more.

So, I shut down.

I let the tears fall as the flight attendant comes back and tells me to turn my phone to airplane mode. I don’t respond to her, and she walks away thinking that I hear her, but I can’t move. I’m frozen.

The next two hours result in the worst flight I’ve ever been on.

The man beside me is constantly invading my personal bubble as he stretches out. My anxiety doesn’t calm the entire ride. My book only helps me partially keep my mind on one thing, and my music quickly gets turned into jumbled noise as my mind blanks.

I walk away from that flight with a scowl on my face and a permanent bad mood looming over me.

I made it through the flight physically, but emotionally I’m still stuck in that seat at the front of the plane.

You might be wondering, why did they move me? Why didn’t you just say that you preferred to keep your seat? You did pay for that seat after all.

Well, I can answer those questions.

Why did they move me? There was an old woman with an air tank who couldn’t sit in her seat at the front of the plane. (something that she should have known before boarding the plane.)

Why didn’t you just say that you preferred to keep your seat? I physically couldn’t. That old woman was looking at me like she would tear me to pieces in shame if I didn’t let her have my seat. That, and the flight attendant was staring right at me with a look of pure judgment on her face.

I paid for my seat, I should have been able to say that I wanted to sit there, but my anxiety had already spiked. I wasn’t able to speak as I nodded and moved all my stuff.

That flight was literal hell for me, and I have no regret blaming it all on that little old lady who didn’t bother to check which seat she was sitting in.