Crabs!
I strongly dislike crabs(insert obvious joke here), so I fucking love deadliest Catch that'll teach them pinchy bastards.

Another is if you're digging sand with your hands and your nails scratch off a stone. Bad.

Pop!
(Lukekull Fuck, Fri 11 Apr 2008, 9:23, 1 reply)

Eyes...
Generally, I'm quite sensitive about eyes and the things that can go wrong with them. The idea of them being peirced or slit is one of the most horrific thoughts possible.

I have an allergy to certain general anaesthetics - including the one that they use most often for eye operations. That means that, if I ever need an eye operation, it'll have to be done with a local. I honestly think I would rather die of conjunctivitis.

I dislike microscopes becasue of the risk that I might sneeze or slip and puncture my socket. And don't get me started on Un Chien Andalou...
( Enzyme is powered by sunlight, Fri 11 Apr 2008, 9:22, 7 replies)

Emetophobia
or sick - being it, seeing it, hearing it - it seems amusing but it doesn't half mess you up! I spent years not going to the pub on a Friday or SAturday night in case I saw someone yakking on the way home - even films where it's blatantly not real I can't deal with at all!
I used to have to work early on a Sunday morning, and the walk to work while trying to avoid looking at pavement pizza was traumatic to say the least!
It affects everything though - worry about flying in case I get airsick, worry about getting drunk in case I'm sick, don't like drunks or small children in case they're sick...

I hate wasps, they just give me the shivers - nasty, vindictive stingy little bastards! They do it because they can!

My latest new phobia is ladybirds. Not nice red native English ladybirds, no, I mean those nasty fat orange violent murderous immigrant scum ladybirds - the harlequin ones. Had a bloody invasion of them over the summer and they're nasty! They bite! Now when I see one it gives me a proper case of the squirms and as such my flat regularly smells of Raid and ladybird earwax (why DO ladybirds smell so bad? )

My all time innocent little thing that makes me retch though is watching small kids eating. They get food everywhere - around their chops I can just about cope with but it's when it's on their teeth, and swirling around their mouths and they eat with their mouths open and...and..*heave*

Urgh. If anyone remembers that godawful advert where the little darlings are stuffing cream cake and the others are eating oranges - that advert had me in such fear I watched only BBC for weeks so I could avoid it!
(Beklet is inexplicably angry, Fri 11 Apr 2008, 9:18, Reply)

I can feel it in my brain mummy........
Well maybe not my brain, but when I weas 6 or so I was playnig in the fields as you do and hiding in the long grass (maybe playing 50:50) when a woodlouse crawled into my ear. Went home and told mum, who didn't beleive me. I could feel it scrabbling around and the only way tio make it stop was to hold my nose and blow out against it thus increasing the pressure in my ears.

Slept, though fuck knows how.

Early morning a small TAZ220 enters kitchen with scrabbling noise in ear driving hjim more and more insane until........

the little fucker crawled out - cue mother screaming, cue TAZ220 screaming. Alot.

I donlt like woodlouse any more.
(TAZ220 Not giving a toss since, Fri 11 Apr 2008, 9:16, Reply)

I'm sorry but
I have as much sympathy for a phobia sufferer as I do for somebody with ADHD or M.E.

Phobias - Mental
ADHD - Bad diet/discipline
M.E - Lazy
(oneinthepink is at your cervix m'lady, Fri 11 Apr 2008, 9:01, 15 replies)

Dogs.
Well, not Dogs themselves, per se.

Dog hair, potential doggy germs and doggy smells are what really make me want to chuck.

Most of my friends have dogs, and just being in a room with a doggy smell, or hair on the sofa... I hate it so much! I feel really queezy.

I went on holiday with a mate last year, and it was his grandparent's caravan in skeggie. They have two dogs, and they go on holiday with them to this very caravan. It was fine when we got there - no smells, no hair, nothing. Until a couple of days in, we'd made a bit of a mess with all the take-out food and stuff, so we thought we'd clean up. Out came the vacuum. The vacuum full of dog hair, that when turned on churned out lots and lots of hot, smelly dog-hair air.

I really felt quite ill after that. My mate can't understand it, and I suppose a Dog Person wouldn't really notice or care about it... it just really bothers me.

Dirty, smelly things.
(MrBeansHoliday, Fri 11 Apr 2008, 8:59, 1 reply)

I heard a phone in on the radio...

that had a similar question and a chap phoned in to tell a story about his then girlfriend.

This girlfriend apparently didn't believe in giraffes, but was quite scared of werewolves!

love that logic...
( Naked Ape call me Caitlyn, Fri 11 Apr 2008, 8:49, Reply)

Having read about 7 pages I realise I have loads...
Earwigs - just wrong, they're evil (and apparently fly - something I really did not need to learn)

Slugs - in God's name why? one time I went running out to get in washing when it rained in bare feet - squishing a big fecker between my toes. I think I cried...

Clowns - 'nuff said

Like The Loon, other people wielding razors, or even knives.

Cheese - It's milk that's gone off! (love pizza though - work THAT one out) I can barely bring myself to wash a plate that's had cheese on it (especially grated cheese *shudder*)

*goes back to his safe place*
( snee held his breath since, Fri 11 Apr 2008, 8:37, 3 replies)

Belly buttons
Ex MissZulu used to have a phobia about belly buttions. Hers...

She was worried that the knot in her belly button would undo and all her guts would fall out, leaving her a pile of organs on the floor next to an empty skin...

"Yes alright then love..."
( zulu eh?, Fri 11 Apr 2008, 8:19, 1 reply)

this morning's fear
is of the man standing on the pavement outside my house playing that Leona Lewis song on his phone. My fear is that I'll have to go and punch him repeatedly until he stops, and I'm a 5'8 tall, 9.5 stone, pacifist girl and he's a lot bigger than me.
( crackhouseceilidhband Fuck off back to Mumsnet, Fri 11 Apr 2008, 8:08, 28 replies)

I have many...
most irrational:

the sole of shoes/feet (animal or human)
metallic/missing/rotten teeth
birds shiting on me

there are others though, I have OCD so that doesnt help...
(R. funny that..., Fri 11 Apr 2008, 8:01, Reply)

In the same vein as Cthonic
The feeling of car seatbelts makes my teeth itch, and the only way to stop the itching is to bite down on the boobs-protecting itchybelt of doom. I've had to have my seatbelt replaced twice. I think I have a problem.
(Helixdaunting, Fri 11 Apr 2008, 7:52, Reply)

3 things
1. I am absolutely petrified of flying. Its not normal. Its wrong. Its the only sodding way to see the world quickly. I live in thailand although i am English. I have not been home for 5 years because i will have to fly. By the way I am not scared of helicopters they are great, and my dream Job is an airline pilot so i guess it must be a control thing.

2. Do you remember the Movie The Spy who loved me? The Man Jaws. He still scares the living shit out of me. The worst part is at the carnival in Rio, when he is dressed as a clown and slowly dancing down the narrow street euuuurrrurrrrgh.

3. Put very Simply.....Squeeky cotton wool!
(The Sitmpwa, Fri 11 Apr 2008, 7:51, 1 reply)

Gay ghosts
give each other the willies.

sorry.
(RickGrimes Quite frankly, disappointed on, Fri 11 Apr 2008, 7:49, 4 replies)

Clowns
I have a morbid fear of clowns. Its something to do with their big white face and stupid red lips. I'm getting a chill just thinking about it.

On another note, I've been told that if you don't have an irrational fear then your clinically insane. Anyone know if this is true or not?
(ruud, Fri 11 Apr 2008, 6:58, 2 replies)

An exhaustive, though by no means incomplete list of things that disturb me.

Previously posted on my Facebook profile.

I am scared of:

Partially-masticated white bread
Raw turkeys that look like headless women in labour
The word "pantyhose"
The word "panties"
Children with old faces
Waluigi
Pelvic thrusting
"Rumble in the Bronx"
Changing the watercooler
The Tresseme advert jingle
Aeroplane toilets
Toilets that flush too noisily, or for too long. Especially at night.
The Status Quo dance
Chest hair that is so springy, t-shirts rest on top of it without actually touching skin
People that smell like meat
The "rup-a-pum-pum" part of "Little Drummer Boy"
Perfectly circular ham
Mayonnaise
That dance that people that went to "discos" in the 80s do
Instant noodle sandwiches
The word "gusset"
Crumpy sandwich paste
Corned beef
The underside of manta rays
Ugly fish (monkfish, angler fish etc)
Goldfish with bulbous eyes
Sweaty muffins in plastic wrappers
The word "macho"
"Come to Daddy" by Aphex Twin (see "children with old faces")
Strawberry flavoured milk
Slightly difficult technology
When Sims say something that sounds like "This prau is prenochet"
Bruised, overripe fruit that has the stench of death clinging to it
Caillou
Madeline
Fatman Scoop shouting
The whole concept of the "Bugsy Malone" movie (see "children with old faces")
The word, and whole idea of "sacs"
(schnuff, Fri 11 Apr 2008, 6:39, 6 replies)

Fangs...LONG POISONOUS FANGS!!!
okay...only sometimes poisonous.

I lead a hiking group. Once a month other semi-competent adults trust me to lead them into the wilds and back. I don't bother to tell anyone that generally two weeks before each hike I generally have horrific nightmares about one or more of us being ravenously attacked and/or mangled and disembowled by rattle snakes and/or mountain lions. Of course, a rattle snake couldn't really disembowl anyone...not unless it had horrifically large fangs...

tea and cakes anyone?

tea and cakes anyone?
(Boxer_Babee, Fri 11 Apr 2008, 6:11, Reply)

Bridges.
I am utterly terrified of them. Not driving over them mind you, but driving UNDER them. Especially when you get into a city where there are several of the intertwining and overlapping and some of them go off to fuck knows where because you can't see where they began or where the dick they end... They look like freakish transformers scorpions or millipedes or something...***shudder***
I also used to be terrified of semi trucks, which got to be a hassle when I was driving my car. If one came to pass me or worse, I had to merge onto the interstate with one, I would shut my eyes and squeal... it's a wonder I haven't died in a car wreck considering that is also how I typically get under the bridges, too...
(twuntysomething, Fri 11 Apr 2008, 5:05, 2 replies)

Needles and Blades.
When I was 12, a wee nipper by all accounts except in appearance - I have always been rather tall for my age - I was stabbed in the inner thigh by a crackhead with a butterfly knife.

I had argued with my mother over something trivial yet important to a 12 year old, probably about whether or not I could use my pocket money to buy a N64 or something equally awesome.

My mother had disagreed with my grand plans for the future and had told me as such. No N64, my grades were bad enough as it was without the further distractions of Super Smash Bros and Goldeneye destroying my study time.

Obviously, this is not what 12-year old me wanted to hear. I had yet to learn the sinister methods of manipulation and smooth talking that I would later use to talk my way into and out of bad situations like a greased vibrator made of butter.

But I digress.

I stormed of in a sulk, in the manner of a sulking 12 year old, and wandered aimlessly around the train station for a while, muttering under my breath at the injustice of not getting an N64 with the money that I myself had earned.

It was then that I heard a strange noise from behind me.

"HUUURRRRRAAWWLLLLGUUUHRAGAGAGAGAGAGARRRRRRRRRRRRRR!"

It sounded as if a midget was getting a severe hairy German manrape lesson with an elephant, or another suitably large animal.

I turned around. This was to be my undoing, for as soon as I saw the man, dressed in a shabby collection of rags and smelling strongly of piss and old tea bags boiled in shit, he saw me.

His wide, unfocused, bloodshot eyes locked onto mine through his thick mane of greasy hair.

"NYAAAAAAAAAARGAGAGAGAGAGAGAGAGAGAGAGWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARG!"
He exclaimed, breaking into a sprint.

I stood there, terrified, as 12 year olds often do when confronted by a raving lunatic in a subway station. This was a mistake.

The man crashed into me, knocking the breath from my lungs and filling my nostrils with his horrid stench, before jumping to his feet and running away, screaming at the ceiling.

"NIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIHHHHHHHRAAAGGAAAWWAWAWAWAWAWWAAAAAAAGH!"

When I tried to get up, there was pain. Lots of it. So I looked down.

The handle of a balisong protruded, almost phallic, from my left inner thigh. The blade had been sunk right in to the hilt, and there was a very, very worring amount of very, very bright red blood seeping into my jeans.

"OH FUCK!" I did exclaim.

And so it transpired that I was rushed to a hospital, whereupon I was put on a gurney with a hastily made dressing keeping my femoral artery and gashed scrotum from painting the walls in festive lashings of crimson as I was prepped for surgery.

And joy, my surgeon was a chatterbox.

"You're very lucky, Mr. Lite, the blade missed your testicles and the gash in your scrotum isn't that deep - it's mainly superficial. The stab wound is quite deep though, so we're going to have to give you a general anesthetic before we operate."

Oh, fucking JOY. Thank you for that, but it still hurts like a bastard and I would like some powerful painkillers and/or anesthetic as I have been screaming, delirious in agony, for the last 15 minutes, you loudmouthed cunt.

And then, to compound matters, I had to go and get the scar tissue removed a full 7 years later as they were starting to pull. It's a bit of a woo/fail when your moanmaker is still growing at the age of 19, but is then in agony as the scar along the left side of your scrotum fails to keep up and has to be removed.

Under a local anesthetic.

So, trypanophobia and aichmophobia. What a lovely set of psychological disorders I have.

Apologies for length, the blade was 4 inches long, which pales in comparison to my continuously growing tool.
(DarkLite swallowed my entire undercarriage, Fri 11 Apr 2008, 4:30, 4 replies)

Heights
Anything from standing on a chair to tall buildings scares the crap out of me. The worst bit though is that my office is being moved in July. From my lovely 1st floor to the 12th fucking floor. And my office has a big window. Aaaggg!

I'll be keeping the blinds shut. Oh, and the parking at the new building is crap.
( flirting with badgers What? It sounded good at the time., Fri 11 Apr 2008, 4:13, Reply)

Cells
Medical pics of cells and cells dividing - Make me feel faint

Ant and fly eggs - Ewwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww
(Beejster, Fri 11 Apr 2008, 4:04, Reply)

I grew up in the mountains.
I have no problem with standing on a limb in a tree that might just crack and drop me at the slightest breath, stand on the edge of a cliff and throw myself off with just a piece of string to keep me from meeting a squishy doom, and flying through the stars gives me sleazy mental orgasms, but the thought of huge volumes of water with a possible monster of some strange kind still leaves me cold. And I was in the Navy.
( CapnChkn I would rather be flying elephants., Fri 11 Apr 2008, 3:47, Reply)

3 things. But this is the major one.
It's a long story, but I've a long history with Needles.
Needles wasn't always a fear of mine. But when I was about ten I was having a routine blood test, and my vein Popped. Pop! Not like a balloon, mind.
"oh, it's disappeared" Said the nurse. She then, instead of taking the needle out and trying again, jiggles the needle about INSIDE MY ARM, whilst in vain trying to get my vein. (Hey, see what I did there?) She didn't get it, and she scared the living daylights out of me, as well as causing extreme pain.
Ever since it's gotten worse. My veins have always been terrible anyway, but by the time I was 18, I needed to have my veins accessed most weeks. I was waiting for a liver transplant, and was on intravenous antibiotics a lot. As well as lots of blood tests. I would have to be held down, whilst I screamed, fought and kicked, whilst the veins were got at. I'm not and never was a strong person, yet it would take two people to hold me when needles were involved. My arms where full of bruises, when a vein was found it usually yielded no blood, and the docs were getting kind of desperate. So was I. They were eying up my ankles at this stage, looking for suitable veins, and I really couldn't take anymore.
I went to a hypnotist. It made a big difference. I still cried, moaned and felt frightened, but I could sit still, no restraint needed. A little while before the transplant, with my veins shot to shit, I get a little device planted in my chest which means the needle gets plugged straight into that. Dead handy. I tell people I have silicon in my breast, but it's not what they're hoping for.
So I go along to the hospital, the day I was called for my liver, ready for it. Knowing too, that I had this little port in my chest so no needles would come near me, made me feel more relaxed. But it was not to be. I had already been turned away from a liver for not being well enough, I was nervous and frightened. And along comes an anesthetist with a HUGE fuck off needle for me. I ask him politely where the hell does he think he's sticking that thing, and he gestures to my bony frail hand. The needle was thicker than my fingers! Well, not really, but had he not looked at how skinny I was?? Less than 6 stone at the time. That knitting needle would slice through me. He did go for a smaller needle, but I had to have it in my hand. No one knew how to use my port so they refused to touch it. It's ok, I figure, I'll be knocked out, and they'll put a few lines in my hands, I can deal. Except it wasn't that simple. I woke up, and after a day or two noticed something on my neck. I had a ginormous bunch of lines coming out of my neck. Sweet-holy-christ-there's-five-different-lines-going-into-one-place-holy-shit-what-get-them-out-of-there. AND they were stitched in! So, at the end of my stay, the line had to be cut out. By a scalpel wielding nurse! Right. By. My. Eyes. I still have the marks on my neck. Good god! It's inhumane!
Now though, I'm 22, and nearly 4 years (This year in Oct) post transplant. I've had about 2 people go for my veins. And both, despite my warnings that my veins were shite, managed to get nothing out of me. The port in my chest works perfectly, allowing me to receive through it, and give blood. (Which some won't do) Apart from a few weeks where it gave up giving blood, which to be fair was after 2 months in hospital, using it constantly, it's worked perfectly. I luvs it!
Now though, I'm faced with insulin injections. INTO MY STOMACH. Holy fuck....
(Beauty School Drop-out, Fri 11 Apr 2008, 3:27, 1 reply)

Gravity reversing
When I was young, every time I got bored I would imagine what would happen if gravity suddenly reversed, and figure out what I would try to do. I'd also sometimes do it for 90-degree changes as well.

Another one was the fear of alternate universes. If I was walking with somebody, and another person walked between us, suddenly we're in different universes talking with copies of each other from the new universes.
(racetraitor has an alibi for, Fri 11 Apr 2008, 3:01, Reply)

dry towels on dry skin
I don't know why... just, y'know eugh.

that feeling of towels on dry skin is horrible. I'm having a little bit of a lemon-face as i think about it.

Worse still is putting them on your teeth, or on your eyes. It's never happened but it just FREAKS ME OUT.
(Schumann makes awesome quiches., Fri 11 Apr 2008, 2:44, 1 reply)

Mycroanthropophobia
One of the girls I work with made the mistake of letting us know she has a phobia of midgets.
Seriously. It really does exist.

Guess what she's getting for her birthday from us....?
(Thomas_The_Spankengine, Fri 11 Apr 2008, 2:43, 5 replies)

Buttons
I hate buttons - especially those big plastic decorative ones on old ladies coats. The bigger the nastier.

And it's not just buttons - it's the idea of putting them in my mouth. My brother shares this hatred.

I only have to say the words 'button sucker' and he cringes, screws up his face and looks in pain.

Bleurgh!!

Out with thee button satan.
( hismastersvice cunting flange-jammer, Fri 11 Apr 2008, 2:40, 2 replies)

Balloons
I have no idea why either.

Even now at 27 i still cant stand them.

At a party with Balloons? I have to get very drunk very fast otherwise i panic.

The fuckers just scare me. I think its the anticipation of the rubbery fucks bursting. Im not afraid of the loud noises, its just the waiting. That goes to TV/Films as well, i have to turn the sound off.

Very strange
(Lanceuppercut, Fri 11 Apr 2008, 2:11, Reply)

I will go incredibly far out of my way
to keep from having to touch wet newspaper.
( AgentMuu hentai coordination, Fri 11 Apr 2008, 2:07, Reply)