What scares me?

My childhood, as some of you know, got off to an interesting start. But there is one early memory that spooked me deeply. It left me a quivering wreck, and has stayed with me to this day. It was a scene of carnage and destruction. It was the day Thomas the Tank Engine crashed through someone’s house. On TV. Yeah.

As you can see, I had a sensitive disposition as a child, which, in many ways, hasn’t fully left me. I’ve had several irrational fears throughout my life. Weirdly, Halloween has never been among them. I’ve never been an avid fan of it – my family as a whole are not interested – but it has inspired me to reflect on the things that have scared me at some point. Before you read any further, don’t judge me.

After Thomas, my next fear was anything that made a loud bang. Balloons, party poppers, and I think at one point even Christmas crackers. My mum wonders if it has anything to do with arriving at a party – still shaken after a nasty, pre-divorce fight between my parents – at the precise moment everyone in the room let off a load of party poppers.

My most intense fear – mercifully no longer the case – was probably fireworks. I remember being about six, and attending some kind of outdoor entertainment. Without warning, the sky exploded with hundreds of the damn things, and I remember screaming, trying to run, and spending the rest of the evening buried under a blanket, crying. Mum remembers a similar occasion when there was an unexpected display during some late night shopping we were doing. I panicked, fled, ran across the road, ran into the nearby supermarket, and was completely unreachable.

At first, even being indoors didn’t help, and it was with Mum’s patience that I slowly became more able to watch fireworks out of the window, and later, step outside the flat with them going off in the distance.

Another weird thing I struggled with as a kid was escalators. In my defence, why would I trust a surface that moves beneath my feet? Similarly, I was also afraid of walking on anything slippery – and still am, if I’m honest. This is most likely my dyspraxia manifesting itself, but I sometimes put it down to trying rollerblading, falling over, and sinking my teeth into my bottom lip. Yowzers.

I like to think that as a young adult, I’ve become less fearful. I mean, I’m less scared of spiders than I used to be. I can tolerate the occasional small/thin legged one in the same room. But there are spiders, and then there are the huge, hairy tarantula clones that randomly appear in the bath, come summer and autumn. Not my cup of tea in the slightest.

Lastly, one that I’m not proud of: vomiting. As a child, I was terrified of illness in general. If someone at school started feeling sick, I’d have an anxiety attack. I wouldn’t eat food that was even slightly old, or at risk of exposure to germs. Ironically, I would get so worried about getting ill, I would start feeling ill. Which then worried me sick. Pun intended.

Nowadays, I’ve come to accept that illness is inevitable, an unlikely occurrence, and usually short-lived. Regarding specifically vomiting related illnesses, I’ve been working on that over the years. But I will say this for myself: it was my fear of stomach bugs that motivated me to aim for five fruits and veggies a day, to give my immune system a good fighting chance. Wouldn’t you call it a blessing in disguise?

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