Adventure in Freewayland

I have anxiety. That means that there are certain things that send me into a tailspin that seem negligible to most people. Freeways are one of those things. Driving was very difficult for me. I spent most of my life not doing it, and learned to drive (on surface streets only!) 7 years ago or so.
Even when I was 16 and learning to drive the first time, I was a hazard in high school driving ed classes; other students covered their eyes when I took the wheel. I was too short for the driving ed cars, and barely saw over the windshield. There was no power steering either, and that didn't help. But it was the lessons with my father, then unmedicated for his bipolar disorder, rage, OCD, and Tourette Syndrome that sealed the deal.
Every week we would dutifully get into the car and try to drive to west Phila. to visit my grandmother and cousins. By the end of the "lesson," after hours of screaming (his) and crying (mine), he would boot me out about 2 miles away from the house and make me walk home. He wouldn't talk to me for days, and that was okay with me. Sometimes, while I was driving, he would pull my hair and yell into my ears; sometimes he would make me take off my shoes and socks and drive barefoot, believing that my problems with driving existed because I could not "feel the pedals." Needless to say, this didn't help me at all. After a year or two of such adverse conditioning, I never wanted to take the wheel again.
I spent 20 years in Southern California without driving, shlepping my son around in buses with his stroller, cadging rides whenever I could. Finally, a compassionate friend and 3 series of driving lessons with a woman did the job, and I got my license. But freeways still give me trouble, to say the very least. I hate shifting lanes and going fast. I hate the huge trucks and pace of the whole thing. I figured it was best to avoid freeways entirely.
However, yesterday I had no choice but to enter the tollroad near Laguna.
I was trying to drive down to Laguna Beach to read one my short prose pieces at a reading, a first for me since I have only done poetry readings before (and an MLA conference piece or two; that doesn't count). But I took the wrong entrance and ended up on the ramp of the tollroad that lead I had no idea where. Plus, I had only 8 dollars and assorted change in cash, $5. of it reserved for the donation I was supposed to give at the reading. My cellphone was dead because I had forgotten to plug it in for 3 days (not an unusual occurance for me).
I pondered my options, but the more I thought about it, the more panicky I got, until I had a full-blown panic attack by the tollbooth. There was no way for me to back down the ramp or turn around. There was no one there. For 10 minutes or so, no other cars came up the ramp, and then, they were in the Fastrak lane and didn't stop. Finally, a car containing two young college students (guys) stopped and heeded my hysterical pleadings. They were afraid of me, thinking I was totally out of my mind. But one of them (bless his soul and my luck) agreed to get into the car with me and guide me to the next entrance.
I put my $2.00 in change into the booth and headed up the ramp, my heart feeling like a balloon in my chest, crowding out all the other organs. I was lucky; the freeway was almost empty, and there was an exit about a mile away near Soka U where I exited. The student let me use his cellphone to call the friends I was supposed to meet in Laguna, and made sure I was okay to drive back (on surface streets) to Laguna Beach.
I was shaky for a while afterwards and wonder still what the Tollroad people will make of those videotapes of a hysterical woman jumping up and down and screaming by the tollbooth. I hope they don't ticket me too highly or at all.
From now on, I will keep more change in the car and more cash in my bag, and always remember to charge up my phone.