Panic won't fit in overhead

My story, well this chunk of it at least, starts in a bathroom at the airport.  All great stories begin or end in the bathroom at the airport.  I can't really think of any at the moment but I'm sure there are some and trust will be the key to this story.  I was sitting in the bathroom of Chicago's O'Hare International Airport.  It is always weird when you are sitting in the stall but you aren't there to do what one normally does in that stall.  Sitting there on the toilet but you still have your pants up.  It just feels unnatural.  I was silently crying my eyes out trying to stifle the sobs, as to not worry my other stall-mates.  Luckily I was in the middle of the two week period that I have to wear sunglasses.  It's not that I don't like to wear sunglasses, I do, but I always lose them after two weeks.  One time they fell off my head in the lion habitat at the zoo.  I had only had them for 3 days and I really liked them but I weighed my options and decided I should probably just let those go.  Anyway, I was glad for the sunglasses because I didn't want people in the airport to see what a mess I was.  I was sure crying at an airport was a regular occurrence with all the arriving and leaving, but I was a friggin' mess.  I am also one of those people that doesn't cry pretty.  I could never be an actress who cried on cue.  I tend to look like I've been hit by a 2x4.  I was such a mess because I had just packed up two suitcases, put all of my crap in a storage unit, found a new home for my rabbit, drove to the airport, and said goodbye, for real, for the first time ever.
I said goodbye to my parents.  Yes, I was 23 and yes maybe I should have done this as a young lady heading off to college 6 years earlier but I didn't go away to college so get off my back.  I freely admit to loving both of my parents with all my heart.  I was the kid who stayed home in the winter on the weekends and played cards all night.  I'm not ashamed.  I am just trying to explain why it was so difficult to say goodbye.  I tried to keep my cool on the 45 minute ride there.  I was doing that thing that I do when I am trying not to lose it.  I stare at something so hard that I try to dissolve it into its basic molecules.  Then, I think about all the inane things I can think of.  Oh look!  That car is green!  Wow!  What a color!...etc.  Unfortunately my parents were trying to talk to me and if I have to open my mouth during this procedure the illusion crumbles.  Not only were they making me talk but my mom was sneaking tissues.  Once I knew she was crying I could have stared at all the cars in front of us until they all burst into flames, the tears were coming.  I felt the mix of dread and doubt when we pulled up to the drop off.  There certainly wasn't enough time to tell my parents all I wanted to say before they had to move along.  So instead, I hugged them and told them I would call them when I got there and grabbed my suitcases like I was just going away for a few days on vacation.  It was all I could muster.  Denial has always been a good friend of mine.  I walked into the airport fighting the urge to drop the suitcases in the middle of the floor and start screaming "mommy".  Somehow I checked in.
After I composed myself as much as possible in the bathroom, I checked my shades and decided that I needed one more thing to do on the airplane.  This is my travel process:  I fill my carry-on with every portable thing that one can do on a plane.  Then I get some paper and some crayons incase I need to color.  Then I bring a book that I never wanted to read but I think that at a certain altitude my taste might change.  Finally I go to the little airport store so I can buy 10 magazines.  Everything from GQ to Cat Fancy, so I can make my bag as heavy as possible for the 20 mile walk to the terminal.  The goal is to try and break the arm on the way.  The most rewarding thing about my process though, is the fact that I KNOW that I will watch whatever shitty movie is playing in its entirety and then fall asleep for the rest of the flight.  I did change it up a little bit that trip though and bought some cough drops.  It was the fall and my allergies were in high gear.  I had just cleaned my dusty room top to bottom and I was having real trouble breathing along with a bad cough.  Everyone loves to be on a flight with a cougher so I got the drops.  Most of the trouble came from a familiar feeling however that had nothing to do with allergies.  The tight grip on my lungs was a regular occurrence for me.  I was in an official state of full blown panic.