When it came to phobias, I never considered myself to have one. Just simple, everyday, normal fears; such as being afraid of hospitals or even worse- their needles. That’s a normal fear isn’t it? It’s just like someone being afraid of arachnids or heights. That is nothing compared to sill arachibutyrophobia, the fear of getting peanut butter stuck to the roof of your mouth. Nor are they as serious as scotophobia, the fear of darkness. They do not affect my life to the point that I cannot partake in activities. If I am ill, I suck it up and go to the doctors. I might have a minor panic session on the way there, but nothing more. I mean, who likes going to an asylum- type building with humans educated to kill you in a painless way—dressed in all white like their some kind of angel? Alright, I realize that sentence may make me seem out of my wits just a tad, but wouldn’t you exaggerate something to get your point across? There, now stop thinking I’m insane. But the main concept I’m trying to rely is this: I do not have phobias. They stimulate my interest, but a part of me finds them ridiculous. I can’t diss on them too much though; they are just as real to the people who suffer from them just as much ghosts are to me.
So, I’m sure you’re sitting there thinking, “Alright, I get it already. You don’t have any phobias. Now, why are you still rambling?” There is a valid reason for my ramblings. Really, there is! These words; my dear reader, are not to tell how I refuse to believe that I “own” a phobia, or to express my philosophy on why I think phobias are nothing but bogus or are figments of an over active imagination. No, through out these lines you’ll learn of how an angel fallen from grace will pick up the most horrifying phobia of them all.
But you want to know an interesting fact? When ever a phobia is a fact, a fairy tale land revels itself.
Post: December 20th