The older I get, the more I realize that I am basically a total freaking coward.
No, really; it’s a little ridiculous.
Laughable social phobias aside (you can read more about those is basically EVERY other post), I have a cornucopia of other completely nonsensical and illogical fears in my arsenal of awkwardness. And lucky you, you get to hear about them all.
FIRST, I think it is only fair to identify the LOGICAL sources of my illogical phobias. So, here is a reasonably short list of practical things that I am afraid of:
#1: Open/Deep Water that I can’t see the Bottom of :
This isn’t all that uncommon. Lots of people don’t like open water because they are afraid of drowning. This isn’t the case for me, though. I don’t like it, because I can’t control it. I can’t run away from it because I can’t run in it. It is bigger and more powerful than me – two major red flags, and there are things living in it (like JAWS himself), that most definitely want to eat me for lunch.
#2: Freaking Hospitals :
I’m not a germaphobe, nor am I really that afraid of being sick. I just don’t like that the people who work there know more about my own body than I do. I don’t like that I don’t know what exactly is in that IV that is going exactly into my veins (also, ow, thanks for the endless needle-sticks, Nurse Lady). I also hate the very aspect of hospital gowns and the unavoidable awkwardness that comes from being forced to wear them. This show ain’t free folks, but nice try.
#3: Paralysis or Physical Restraints of Any Kind:
I don’t like knowing that I can’t remove myself form some sort of potentially painful, uncomfortable, dangerous. or, more likely, awkward situation. Crowed rooms are the enemy, so are traffic jams, lines at amusement parks, packed elevators and any other spaces that are overly “people-fied.”
Now for the fun part. As reasonable(ish) as the above “Root Fears” are, I have absolutely no justification for ANY of the following in this list. I am afraid of these things for no reason, I know, psychologists, I know. But rationalizing the fact that I am off my nut over and over again hasn’t gotten rid of any of them, so just leave me to my nonsense and go fix someone else’s brain. Thanks.
#1: Having any part of my body, but most specifically my feet, hanging off of the end of the bed while I sleep:
I’m not sure how this particular breed of useless fear wiggled it’s way into my subconscious, but it is there every night waiting to make my life just a little more challenging.
I sleep in a twin-sized bed, because my room is small. Very small. Microscopic. I don’t mind it, really. Small spaces are easier to clean, and I am encouraged not to buy a bunch of stupid stuff due to the lack of stupid space to put the stupid stuff. I don’t mind the small bed either, because it discourages outsiders from attempting to invade my sleep space. BUT, this particular mattress poses a major problem because it is precisely one inch shorter than I am when I stretch out completely.
I know what you’re thinking, (I think):
“Who cares? It is one freaking inch, you big, awkward whiner baby. Get over it.”
NO, JUDGEMENTAL ITALIC VOICE, I WON’T GET OVER IT. Because when you see a measly inch of overhang space, I see this:
Yeah. Not so silly now, is it?
Of all the possible causes of death that inevitably live in The Abyss, the following have the most frequent flyer miles in my foolish mind.
That’s right, a freaking shark. I picture a freaking shark, lurking beneath the floor boards of my tiny room on the third story of my land-based apartment, just waiting for me to dangle a few tasty toes in front of him for a late-night snack. I’ve tried forcing myself to leave my foot off the end of the bed. I’ve tried to make the whole, terrifying ordeal a joke to coax myself out of this delusion. It didn’t work. If I put my foot off the end of the bed, a shark WILL eat it. Trust me.
Ironically, I have no fears whatsoever about the apartment catching on fire in the middle of the night, which, is actually a realistic threat seeing as it is almost entirely made of wood and my room mates and I have a habit of forgetting to blow out candles and leaving the oven on. But nope, it’s only the spontaneous flames I’m ridiculously afraid of. Those sneaky little bastards could pop up out of nowhere to engulf my foot in flames…jerks.
I’ll admit, this one is just stupid. Also I think it may have something to do with the pathetically high amount of influence that scary movies/video games/etc. had on my childhood brain. Nevertheless, If the shark or the flames don’t get to me first, GHOST HAND will. Not a whole ghost, just his hand. He’ll grab my foot and drag me off of my bed and into ghost land where, well, ghostly things will happen whether I like it or not. We don’t have real-life ghost busters. Bill Murray really let me down there. Who am I going to call? No one, I guess. I just get to die at the hands of some malicious, ecto-plasmic being. Jinkies…
#2: Killing Bugs, because they are all in cahoots and will one day gang up on me:
YES, I know this is not a thing. I know that bugs don’t give two flips about other bugs. I know that even if they were plotting against me, or all of humanity for that matter, a few cans of OFF would solve all of my problems. Or a couple birds, or BEETLEGIEUSE, should he happen to be in the neighborhood. Even so, I always hesitate to squish that spider in my shower or swat at that mosquito, because, what if the Bug-iverse only allows humans so many kills before they retaliate. What if that spider is the last tally on my list? WHAT IF?!?! A Bug-apolypse. That’s what. Bugaggedon. BugZilla. I can keep going. The irrational possibilities are endless.
#3: Closing My Eyes in the Shower because something is watching me, or a Shark, probably a Shark:
It might be the water, it might be the momentary darkness, it may be the fact that I am currently stark naked and utterly defenseless, who knows? Not me, but it doesn’t matter. The second I close my eyes in the shower, something or someone is going to get me. It doesn’t matter that blinking only takes a second. It doesn’t matter that there was nothing there two seconds ago when I double-quadruple checked for the 166th time. It’s there now, I can feel it. Getting soap in my eyes only burns for the rest of the night, but if something gets me, I’ll be got forever. FOREVER. Bring on the red-eye and the shame at my pathetic-ness please. You’re not getting me today, scary thing, or probable shark. Nope. Not today.
The worst toy in the History of all Toys. When we were little, my brother and I had one. It looked like a little Owl-Cow, and we loved it for precisely five minutes. Then the tongue got stuck down, and it repetitively made the default “MMMMM” or “YUMMMM” noise whenever we so much as blinked in it’s general direction. I hid it in my closet so that it wouldn’t “see” us anymore – and it still went off at random. Usually in the middle of the night. Conclusion? All Furbies are possessed and want to eat me. They are creepy and they should all be accidentally destroyed maliciously or thrown into the Abyss where the Foot Sharks, Spontaneous Flames and Ghost Hands can end their miserably, animatronic lives. The End.
This concludes the List of Irrational Fears. I hope you’ve enjoyed yourself. If you need me, I’ll be in the fetal position in the middle of my bed, ignoring that freaking spider in the corner of the ceiling and rubbing my soap-burned eyes.
May Your Lives be Forever Furbie-Less, and as always, I am Awkwardly Yours,