going claustrophobic in a hood

what was supposed to be a philippine paradise divers diving weekend turned out to be more of booze and alcohol for me.

not only was i able to only do one dive but that i also managed to screw that one up from the start of it.

a month ago, i bought this really nice looking hood. it even looks nicer on me, keeping the tendrils of my hair away from my face and my mask. to say that i was looking forward to using it was an understatement. i brought it with me even in the midst of some of my dive group buddies almost diving with nothing on. apparently, the hood made me claustrophobic that when i did a backflip and started to descend, i couldn’t. i feel like i wasn’t breathing, that the mask is leaking, and that i do not have enough weight to go down.

and there was also the “mild” paranoia about the kamikaze shots, the jelly cups (5 ice-cream cupped jellies with rhum, gin, vodka, whiskey, coke, grenadine, and whatever else), the glasses of campari orange i have consumed the night before (plus only a five-hour sleep in the last forty eight hours) that made me rather surfaced back up rather than forced myself down.

the cute european divemaster surfaced with me and asked what’s wrong. i explained i cannot descend and was pulling off the hood off me. “here’s your mask,” he said and i realized right there and then i was not calm. i pulled off the hood without realizing that by doing so, i also knocked the mask off me, and worse, i might even have lost it. “you alright?”

“yes, i feel better now.” i told him and once again- this time, the hood carelessly put inside my bc pocket and tried descending again.

i had no problems.

it always embarasses me to make a fool out of myself in front of really good-looking men. but i am glad when it comes to diving, i am never cocky.

however, that also seems to mean that i would rather skip a dive than skip a booze.

something is so not right in that one.

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