Fear
No, not the movie with Mark Wahlberg and Reese Witherspoon.
I'm not afraid of many things. I can probably count them on one hand. That's not to say that I'm reckless or foolhardy, I'm just not especially fearful.
Some of the most commonly heald fears mean nothing to me.
Fear of public speaking? Ummm... got that one licked. Hell, I relish an audience.
Fear of heights? Licked that when I worked in the warehouse for the grocery store. Before that summer the third step of a ladder was it for me. Since then, heights have no hold on me.
Claustrophobia? Nope, not really. That's not to say I enjoy enclosed spaces, but I'm like a cat. If I can fit my head through an opening, the rest of my body can fit as well. No worries of getting stuck.
Emetophobia? I don't have a fondness for vomit, but I'm certainly not afraid of it.
Arachnophobia? Okay, I've got that a touch. Well, more than a touch. It's not like a shriek like a pig-tailed school girl, hands fluttering in a pointless attempt to ward off panic. I just leave the room, and ask Gal to roll up a newspaper and smack the little eight legged freak dead. I even get skin crawlies with obviously fake movie spiders. Fear Factor? Fuggeddaboudit.
What I do fear more than anything is being trapped in my own body. I've always been a tremendously independent person, taking care of myself, doing my own thing. I don't like to be fussed over.
So the thought of dementia, alzheimer's or anything where my conciousness becomes trapped in my body scares the crap out of me.
As my Nan got older, I remember this normally sweet tempered English lady displaying more frequent fits of temper. It was frustration at not being able to do what she used to be able to. And even worse, knowing that she used to be able to do whatever it was.
My grandfather was the same way.
Now granted, Nan was 95 when her mind started to go, and my Granddad was in his 80's. I've got a ways to go before I hit those ages. But I do live in fear of that. I know me. I know that I'll be completely unsufferable. Especially if I'm stuck in the crooked home we saw on 60 Minutes.
I'm not afraid of many things. I can probably count them on one hand. That's not to say that I'm reckless or foolhardy, I'm just not especially fearful.
Some of the most commonly heald fears mean nothing to me.
Fear of public speaking? Ummm... got that one licked. Hell, I relish an audience.
Fear of heights? Licked that when I worked in the warehouse for the grocery store. Before that summer the third step of a ladder was it for me. Since then, heights have no hold on me.
Claustrophobia? Nope, not really. That's not to say I enjoy enclosed spaces, but I'm like a cat. If I can fit my head through an opening, the rest of my body can fit as well. No worries of getting stuck.
Emetophobia? I don't have a fondness for vomit, but I'm certainly not afraid of it.
Arachnophobia? Okay, I've got that a touch. Well, more than a touch. It's not like a shriek like a pig-tailed school girl, hands fluttering in a pointless attempt to ward off panic. I just leave the room, and ask Gal to roll up a newspaper and smack the little eight legged freak dead. I even get skin crawlies with obviously fake movie spiders. Fear Factor? Fuggeddaboudit.
What I do fear more than anything is being trapped in my own body. I've always been a tremendously independent person, taking care of myself, doing my own thing. I don't like to be fussed over.
So the thought of dementia, alzheimer's or anything where my conciousness becomes trapped in my body scares the crap out of me.
As my Nan got older, I remember this normally sweet tempered English lady displaying more frequent fits of temper. It was frustration at not being able to do what she used to be able to. And even worse, knowing that she used to be able to do whatever it was.
My grandfather was the same way.
Now granted, Nan was 95 when her mind started to go, and my Granddad was in his 80's. I've got a ways to go before I hit those ages. But I do live in fear of that. I know me. I know that I'll be completely unsufferable. Especially if I'm stuck in the crooked home we saw on 60 Minutes.
posted by Surly Canuck at 11:40 a.m.
3 Comments:
Hey man, fear keeps you sharp.
And makes you wet your pants.
Hey, win, win!
Great, now I'm sharp and I have wet pants.
Damnit!
Where are we going?
Why am I in this handbasket?
yeah, i totally stole your handbasket bit. but i credited you for it.
i think losing one's mind is not an uncommon fear - while that is a horrible thing, my fear is the opposite. to be trapped inside your body and have nothing work except your brain, and to be fully conscious of everything around you. that would just suck.
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