Today I will face my fear of heights with my friends as we walk to top of that steps and buckle in on that 500 foot ride in the air. I will not look down and do my best.

Don’t give me those eyes That innocent look Like a children’s cartoon In a picture book

That slobbering tongue Panting for a pat Show how you roll over How you stood and you sat

That tail thump thump thumping Nose nuzzling my thighs And I just can’t escape From those puppy dog eyes!

Though I know you’re a good boy A sweet little man I just cannot pet you You don’t understand

When you flash that smile That childlike grin I catch sight of those teeth And my head starts to spin

Those razor sharp canines Could tear me to shreds In seventeen seconds I would be good as dead

I’m sure you would never You’re an angel, so pure But I still keep my distance You can never be sure

The sound make me fear like chasing by a gang of wolfs. Everything I do is being watched and thus I should be exceptionally care about each movement I made. How come my blood pressure and heart beat always high, almost cannot breath. Okok, it’s just a dream and I told myself that all the fears will gone when I wake up. Thanks God.

People always told me that it would be fun. That I’d enjoy it, have a good time. I hadn’t believed them because well why would I? People had lied about so many other things. Shots, Sundays walks, and fancy dress parties. All these wasted moments where I’d stood with a smile plastered to my face. Hating the paper dry conversation about things that didn’t matter. The drunken women spilling their unhappy souls and the men telling awful jokes. Desperate to return to the mood lighting and silence of my home. Maybe, just maybe this might be different. So I bought the ticket, purchased some new shoes and said fuck it.

My friends have been doing a popular puzzle from the newspaper every day for many months. They have asked me what my daily score is, assuming that of course I participate in this activity. What my friends don't understand is that I have a deep pathological fear of spelling in front of others.

This fear goes back to my childhood, when people in my fourth grade class were required to participate in the citywide spelling bee. As it happens, I am an astoundingly good speller. Astoundingly good, that is, unless I am asked to spell a word in front of others. If I spell by myself, alone in a room, I can spell anything. The most difficult, arcane, or strange word presents no difficulty at all. But if I'm asked by a second person to spell in front of a third person, all bets are off. The simple requirement that I spell in front of another person chases any skill at all out of my head immediately.

This fear started especially because we were called upon the spell in front of the class. Those who couldn't do it right away were targeted for scorn and ridicule. a whole class full of of Children pointing and laughing at you is enough to drive anyone towards A psychological break.

Sometimes I test myself. I'll listen to a movie or TV show or podcast and wait for them to pronounce a difficult word. I will write that difficult word down and check it with an online dictionary. I have always, always spell the word correctly.

And now more than ever, I am afraid of spelling in front of anyone else. I have had friendships ended because of this phobia. It is a fear that is ended relationships.

I must only be a secret spellerthat's the only way.

No. No. No,no,no,no,no! NO! NOOOO!

You can’t make me go!

You! Can’t! Make! Me! Gooo!

“Oh my god, Lena, stop being so dramatic, it’s okay,” Ainsley says, dragging my thrashing body away from the entrance to the ride. “You don’t hafta come with us, y’know. You can join us later, like usual.”

I hadn’t realised I’d said all that out loud.

‘Get. Yourself. To-ge-ther!’ I screamed to me. Me, it would seem, did not like all my yelling, I screamed back:

‘I am being perfectly rational, Lena! It’s a friggin’ 80-foot drop, for crying out loud! You’re the one who needs to pull yourself together. I can’t believe you actually agreed to go on a crazy amusement park ride. You know you hate those!’

‘Yeah, well, I’m sick and tired of my friends always going off and leaving me alone at parks. For once I wanna join them! Make some memories, you know?’

‘Oh, you’ll make some memories, all right. When you end up in the hospital-‘

“Lena! Stop talking- er, thinking, to yourself, you can do this!” Ainsley puts her hands on my shoulders, shaking me. “I. Believe. In. You!”

“I don’t.” Carter says, pulling off a fragment of cotton candy from the huge sugary cloud he holds in his hands.

“Okay, first of all, Carter, not helping! This is a very momentous day for Lena, she’s facing her fears! You know how scared she is of hights. Remember last year? She was practically having a seizure, she was shaking so much.”

“Oh, yeah! I ‘member. She was screaming and crying.”

“Okay, you guys-“ I start, embarrassed. They don’t appear to hear me.

“Yeah. And when she said she wanted to go to that gathering, I was all like, ‘You sure, Lena?’ And she said, ‘Yeah, I’m sure!’ an’ then we get there, and she wouldn’t even go in!”

“Introverts,” Carter snickers.

“Really,” Ainsley says, then turns back to me and smiles, “‘Kay, you sure you wanna do this, Lena? Like I said, you don’t hafta.”

“I am choosing to ignore that comment, Carter. Yes, Ainsley, I want to do this.”

Oh, no. What have I done?

“You sure, sure?” Ainsley’s trying her best to hide it, but I can tell she’s ecstatic I’m trying something new.

Okay. Okay, Lena, you can do this.

“Yep. Positive!”

“Right! Okay! Yay! This’ll be so much fun! Carter, stop eating that, food isn’t allowed on the rides, you know this.”

Carter shrugs and sets off to find a trash can. I size up the terrible tower of doom- sorry, I mean the giant set of swings. The oh-so fun ride, where you spin ‘round and ‘round till you feel so dizzy and disoriented you think your head’ll fall off. Maybe we should check out the coasters instead! The one where it starts off slow, painstakingly going upward, like climbing up a mountain, till you reach the summit, and then you pummel down, and the adrenaline is kicking you right in the heart, and then you find yourself upside down and-

No, Lena! You’ll be fine! And if you’re not, you’ll have the perfect excuse to never leave your house again!

Carter runs back to us, wiping his sticky hands on his jeans, “Alright! Lena, I swear you’re gonna ha- I mean, love this ride. The swings only go so far, so it’s great for amateurs.”

I start laughing hysterically. Ainsley grabs us and pulls us into the line. Aaaand, right about then is when my panic alarms set off. Well, set off again, if I’m being honest.

No! No! No! Leeeeeennnnnaaaaaaa! Be smart! Don’t do this! Please! Pleaseeeeeeee!

“You guys going on the ride together?” asks the Bringer of Death, also known as the ride operator.

How’d the line move so fast?!? How are we here already?!? I’m not prepared for this!

“Yessir,” Ainsley calls to him, already moving past the opening gates.

“Ainsley! Carter! No! I change my mind!”

“Too late. C’mon, Lena, you can do this, ‘n all that.” Carter takes lead and we find our seat.

“If we die, I am blaming all of this on you! All of it!” I shriek.

“Whatever you say, Lena.” Ainsley claps her hands in excitement.

“Well, you couldn’t, could you, Lena? You’d be dead.” Carter rests his hands behind his head.

———————————————————————

“Soooooo…” Ainsley nudges me, “What did you think?”

I don’t answer, preoccupied with trying to ease my clanging nerves.

“She loved it, can’t you tell?” Carter, somehow, has obtained more cotton candy, despite us just getting off the ride. “Wanna go on the roller coaster next?”

“No! Absolutely not! I object to this torture! I promise, I’ll live out my days, content to wait at the entryway of rides for you guys! Just, never again!”

“Well, maybe-“

“No! I was on the precipice of eternal darkness the entire time!”

“Yeah, you almost fainted, didn’t you?” Carter offers me a piece of cotton candy. I decline, my stomach way too uneasy.

“But, wasn’t it worth it, facing your fears?” Ainsley steals the package of cotton candy from Carter.

Ha. That’s funny. “I mean, I guess, but never again.”

(Sorry, this is kind of long.)

Tonight’s the night. I’ve decided to finally face my fear and go to my friends monthly cooking get together. I suck at cooking. At least that’s what I’ve always told myself, and I’m working on reframing that thought. Reframing thoughts….been focusing on this a lot lately.been making good progress in therapy and starting to take some chances and face my fears. Easier said than done though. So for the party today, I have to bring the recipe we’re all gonna cook. That’s the deal. Any new member brings the recipe and the ingredients, and teaches everyone how to cook the dish. I’ve got one dish I cook, and that’s what I’m going with. I’ve never cooked it for anyone else and don’t know if anyone will like it. I don’t make it for taste. I make it to optimize my nutritional consumption. So in other words it’s ridiculously healthy and I’ve never thought about the taste really. Or I’ve never prioritized it. I eat it everyday. I guess that’s what I’m worried about: revealing my obsession with optimizing my health.

“Come on it will be fun!”

“It won’t.”

“Yes it will, don’t be boring.”

Reason number 1: if you feel the need to get absolutely shit faced and snort half of Columbia on a night out to “have fun” then maybe you’re the boring one.

“Ugh. If I go out this once then I never have to again.”

“Fine, deal.”

Reason number 2: The Slug & Lettuce just gives me Love Island vibes. I don’t know why it just does. Every “lad” in their dresses the exact same. They’ve been to the gym, only ever bench pressed and bicep curled, you can tell from the skin tight black jeans they are wearing that they’ve never done cardio or done leg day once. They wear a white shirt that is ridiculously tight around their arms, short sleeved because they need to have their tatted up arms out. Now I have no issue with tattoos, I have plenty, but when you and your entire group of mates have all got the exact same design finishing off with a rose on your hand you look like a bunch of dickheads. Now the age of these “beys” varies from 18-30. At 18 I get it, at 30, get your life together. You look ridiculous. Then you have the girls. Girls vary a little bit more. You have the 18 year olds who have made way to much effort, the 22-26 year olds who for most of the time have got it right but then their personality is the same as the girls on love island who suddenly act like wisemen (or women) when their “friend” has been cheated on and they all do that drunk kinda thing where they shout over each other, call each other babe and say how they’ll always be there for one another. And then you have the over 30’s who are usually recently divorced, single mums who think that the 18 year olds that are ‘flirting’ with them actually fancy them and that they ‘still have it.’ You don’t girls, it’s just banter. Grow up.

“See I told you it would be fun!”

“I would rather be dead.”

Reason Number 3: The conversations you hear … oh my god. Lads trying to be impressive to the table of girls half a mile away by shouting in their deepest, roadmanist (?) voice about all the absurd shit they’ve done recently.

“Oi lads lads, oi! Do you remember that time J was doing the roof at work and we fuckin’ pushed him off?! Ey ey! Hahaha fuckin’ mad one, the bell is still in ICU haha!”

Listen boys, if you want to go and talk to the girls, go and talk to them. Your stories about being lads aren’t actually impressing anyone, all everyone is thinking is ‘what a bunch of cocks.’ And not in a good way.

Girls are also just as bad, they also tell stories really loudly to each other to try and get the attention of the boys. It’s almost like watching a mating ritual on David Attenborough, it’s just a shame neither sex does when the deed is done like some animals.

A few hours later and my nightmare is nearly over. This is the worst bit though, leaving. Not because I don’t want to. Oh no, I was mentally in my bed with a book 2 hours ago. No it’s the fact that everyone who you have been watching and judging all night have now become way to friendly as they are all, and I believe this is the technical term, ‘drunk as fuck.’

“Oh shit, sorry mate sorry, I didn’t mean to knock in you.”

“It’s fine … please get your hand off me … no I don’t want a hug … no I don’t want to be friends, fuck off”

You see girls and guys who have met 20 minutes before spending doubly as long saying goodbye to each other and getting one another’s Snapchat details so they can not message each other the next day when one of them realised that they could have done a lot better and ‘omg I can’t drink again’. I hate it. I hate people.

“So did you have a good time?”

“…yeah actually, I did.”

(Not exactly the prompt, but oh well)

I love reading I love books I want to hold onto the memory of them Capture it all perfectly in my head And my need to hold onto that? Probably why I’m anxious again

I get scared reading things, And I do mean scared, That I won’t be able to recall it all perfectly That things won’t be complete in my head That I’ll call myself a devoted fan, And then be out crazied by someone who knows more. Remembers it all.

And if we want to go deeper, maybe there’s an undertone of inferiority I don’t want to be bested. Don’t want to meet someone perfect who does remember everything. But this is my hobby. My enjoyment. I don’t want someone else to have a say in it.

So on the surface to quell this, I wonder why I can’t just re-read the book like many do But that’s time that I could use to read something new Delightful. Time. Fear number two.

Have you ever been close to something so disproportionate in size to you, so mammoth and looming, that your entire body has turned to jelly and a sense of impending doom has settled into your bones? Think gigantic, towering, impossibly fluffy, spotted all over, life sized and like giraffe.

Now let’s couple that with the searing fluorescence of light strips and screens over and around head. Surrounded by high pitched tones and pops of colour so artificial you can’t believe they’re real.

Hamleys was the place, with the finest toys, and ability to trigger every one of my fears. The hypersensitivities, overstimulation and megalophobia that plagued me daily. And I was here because I needed to get a new friend for a new friend, a little bundle of human light who needed to know, from the get go, that I was the provider of comfort and calm that would always be there.