I better not have a nightmare about falling off a cliff while being strangled by a snake tonight

I sort of do not want to write this post, because I had a very nice nightmare last night that involved me being bitten in the face my an angry fanged snake and waking up screaming, literally.  If I say one more time how happy I am that Joel is coming home tonight I will be guilty of sounding like a clingy dependent-type, but holy hell, am I ever sick of living in a state of terror after the sun goes down.  I am also looking forward to Joel's return because it would be nice to wake up to something other than Madison scratching my scalp so that HE can sleep on my $100 dollar memory foam pillow, and Madison doesn't dare come near the bed when Joel is home, because Joel is the stern rule-enforcing cat-parent, while I am the one who's getting the camera because they look so cute when they walk on the kitchen table and sleep on top of the fridge.

So, now where were we?  Oh yes. 

Part 2: Heights Kill.

For those who know me in real life, I would appreciate if you could refrain from making any "well it's a good thing you're so short!  Get it?? Because you're afraid of heights?  And you're only 5'1"?? Get it??" jokes.  Yes, I get it.  It's just not that funny. 

OK, so heights.  I also hate them, although not with the same intensity as our serpentine friends, but rather with a sort of biological revulsion.  I know a few people who avoid elevators because they are claustrophobic, and as a person who has been trapped in an elevator on more than one occasion (although I can only remember one at the moment -- and a word of advice, do not get into an elevator at the National Gallery of Art having just drank an entire 20oz Diet Coke and really  having to pee.  It's a bad idea), I can understand that.  Those people are lucky, because fearing enclosed spaces is a generally accepted, while for the most part, completely irrational fear.  However, if you tell people that you hate elevators because of that split-second when they start to go down too fast, and that the feeling of free fall does not inspire Disneyland style euphoria, but instead an overwhelming urge to vomit, they will not be quite as understanding.  I know from experience.

I'm not sure why, but for a long time I would go on all the roller coasters at amusement parks, even though when they came to the inevitable mountain climb followed by a free-fall plummet I would have to try to talk myself out of crying every time.  Instead of throwing up my hands and screaming with pleasure, you would find me with my face scrunched up and eyes closed tight, clutching the bar and trying not to vomit.  At least I was smart enough to pass up that elevator ride at Disneyland though, the one where you just fall something like 13 stories straight down, which was good because there was a really long line for it. 

The fear of heights doesn't bother me on a daily basis, and actually I think this fear might even be classifiable as "rational", because I'm not the least bit scared or uncomfortable if there is a railing or some sort of protective enclosure in place.  But one of the main reasons why I declined a family vacation to the Grand Canyon was a brutal fear of riding a donkey down while overlooking our nation's greatest rocky chasm.  And the whole not showering for a week and sitting on a raft all day.  And the parties I had while I was home alone.  But, mostly, the heights.  Oh, sure, those donkeys have sure footing, I know, but can they handle a hyperventilating 16 year old with an overactive imagination?  I'm not quite confident enough to risk my life on that, thank you very much.

So where did this come from?  Was I dropped on my head as as baby?  Well, sort of. 

When I was a baby, I had one of those Fred Flinstone runner things, where I sat strapped into a bouncy little chair and propelled myself around the house with my own two feet.  According to my parents, I loved that thing, and I was awesome at it, because I was awesome at everything and also a very beautiful child to behold.  The fact that I lost all my hair around the age of 2 and was ungodly pallid in color detracted nothing from my good looks.  I was also a baby genius, by the way.  My mommy told me so.

So, my parents were building an addition onto our house to accommodate all of my baby genius paraphernalia, such as the Nobel Prize they were sure I'd win before the age of 5 and the many infant beauty pageant trophies I kept winning.  I mean, sometimes they didn't even enter me in the contests.  The judges would just see us walking by on the street and strip the medal off the other kid and give it to me.   It was hard having a child that good-looking, but my parents were making due.  This home addition included a large living room, which was two steps down from the kitchen area that had been built first.  While the foundation for the living room was being built, a "shoe" was put around the kitchen, and from what I remember (I was so goddamn smart that I remember my own birth, which was, of course, easy and painless for both Mother and myself) this consisted of a two by four nailed along the border of the kitchen.  I'd run around (training for my baby marathon, which I was favored to win) in my runner-thing, smash into the "shoe", bounce off, and run off in the other direction. 

Well, one day during the living room's progress, the shoe had to come off, and marathon training schedule was overlooked.  As I ran at full speed across the kitchen, I sailed right off the two-step cliff and into the new living room, breaking the world record for baby long-jump.  Unfortunately, I botched the landing and broke my fall with my skull. 

Now, I think I might have mentioned that, strangely, many of the people in my life are afraid of medical professionals, with my mother leading the pack.  Well, Mom secured her spot as Most Afraid of Doctors forever when, in a fit of panic-induced denial, she pretended that I was fine and sat me at the kitchen table for some lunch.  I promptly passed out in my plate.

I'm not going to lie, my memory of the incident is spotty, what with my FRACTURED SKULL and being less than two years old and all, but if Dr. Phil and his food friend Sigmund Freud were here, I think they'd tell you that I am completely justified in fearing high places for the rest of my life.  And if Carl Jung were here too, he would tell you that snakes are also totally evil, because that's in my collective memory and also in the BIBLE.  God, sometimes I loved being a psychology minor.  Can you tell?

I didn't fully realize how scared I was of heights until we went to Hawaii in December.  I knew we were going to be doing some serious hiking, because Mom had told us to be prepared for some "long hard days" -- what every person vacationing on an island paradise expects, I suppose.  One of these treks up a mountain included a long section with a trail a foot wide and a vertical drop down the side of the mountain on either side.  I'm not going to lie, tears were shed.   I hear it was quite a beautiful view when we mad e it to the top, but I was too busy vomiting in a bush and sobbing to notice.  And then my brother told us how he and his friends did the same hike in Teva sandals, including one fellow whose flip-flop broke early on, who went up the mountain barefoot.  Also, it was raining.   

When we finally made it back to sea-level, my mom wanted to know if I felt proud for having done something I was afraid of.   Somehow, I didn't feel too empowered for having broken down into tears in front of my family while on a tropical vacation -- at the age of 25.   I did feel an aura of love when my brother returned sunglasses that I had unwittingly dropped miles before without a word of jest or scorn at my melodramatic behavior.  I wonder what Freud would say about that?

Comments

[Lisa B]

I can completely understand the fear of heights!

Especially with what you've gone through!

[Lisa B]

Oh and the white pants comment cracked me up. I believe you are in the clear with your cute white yoga pants. Sounds like you have all of the bases covered!

[Carolyn J.]

I don't fear heights, but I hate the sensation of free fall. I get vertigo on steep downward slopes because walking downward gives a taste of that sensation. So you're not alone...

[Jezzie]

Hey, I just stopped by from Dooce with totally unsolicited advice. I am 36, have had 2 kids and I have adult acne. After years of trying every product no matter how ridiculously overpriced, including Proactive, which gave me wrinkles, no less,I went to a drive-by dermatologist who diagnosed me then gave me antibiotics and gel goo which I faithfully followed to little or no avail...fast forward 2 months, the $50. gel goo is gone, my insurance ran out, and it really did no good anyway, so on a whim I tried ONE MORE PRODUCT. And it worked. Cetaphil cleanser. Good luck, it has been painfull both monetarily, psycologically, and physically to deal with lo this last decade. I feel for ya! Jess

[LInda]

You were 2 days shy of 8 months old when you fell ...