As a phobia is defined by an irrational fear...
My irrartional fear is... that people can hear what I am thinking.

Often I am thinking rather bizarre and occassionaly surreal comments and as I am halfway into my latest thought of what it would be like to maybe have some naughty naked fun with another lady (I am not actually bi or anything - see above about being random) and then suddendly the thought will occur to me that maybe someone can hear what I am thinking. This often occurs when I am in a car with someone and it's fairly quiet. I will actually stop thinking about whatever it was and instead start singing to myself in my head.

A while back, whilst enjoying a spliff or two I mentioned this to my friend who then decided it would be a good idea to show me an episode of Buffy where she can hear peoples thoughts.

This was not a good idea. Paranoia of the highest degree crept in and in a bizarre twist of fate my mate asked if I wanted a cuppa as I was just thinking I would. I think this instance has meant that even now I occasionally ask questions to people near me in my mind trying to catch them out and see if they answer and I will know they really can read my mind...
( TGB checking Off Topic is still shit at, Fri 11 Apr 2008, 14:07, 2 replies)

chewing foil, mum eating and not closing the front door properly
Not really a phobia but I cannot stand, when eating sweets or anything that has individual units wrapped in foil like Toffos, biting off a little bit of the foil wrapper by accident and it rubbing on my fillings as I chew, making my mouth go metally. It's making my arms tingle just writing about it.

When I was a child the sound of my mum chewing her dinner really freaked me out - also in the summer when she had bare feet she would sometimes stretch out her legs and spread her toes out, for some reason I used to find this quite disgusting. Actually I think I was a horrible horrible ungrateful child - I found my old spirograph in the loft the other day and on the bit of thick cardboard used to pin the cogs and wotnot to I had drawn a bedraggled woman with a dripping nose and underneath I had written, "Mums work is disgusting, she puts her hands in the toilet" and on the other side "Mums got gooleys".

I am always scared I have left the front door open by accident after leaving my house, and being aware of this I usually deliberately pay attention and register it's successfully shut. Sometimes I forget though and have even had to turn the car round mid journey to go home and check (I pretend to go in a get something). I have had it where I did one of these checks and then couldn't remember again if I had closed the door properly after I left the second time. Maybe I should just do a visual inspection instead of starting up a whole new opening/closing the door session, but I don’t want people to know that’s what I’m doing you see.
(powertiger, Fri 11 Apr 2008, 14:04, 3 replies)

chocolate chip muffin
Like many (particularly blokes) I’m not keen on needles. I was fine as a nipper having vaccinations at school and stuff and I’m not particularly squeamish...

Mrs spimf and I were trying for a baby (we scored in the end he's nearly 2 now and a wee belter) but we had to have a few hospital appointments to get there, one morning we're in the car heading to the hospital and mrs spimf stops at a service station and comes out with a chocolate muffin.

"Here eat this,” she says
I didn’t really feel like eating a muffin right then and was also slightly bemused at her request.
"I’m alright thanks I’m not hungry right now"
"No eat the muffin, you need to eat something"
"Err, I just told you I don’t want the bloody muffin"
"Eat the muffin"
"I don’t want the FUCKING MUFFIN"
"JUST EAT THE FUCKING MUFFIN"
"No"
"You need to eat it, your having a blood test this morning and the nurse says if your blood sugar is low it might affect the results"

Silence

You know that moment in movies when they move the camera away from the subject whilst simultaneously zooming in (yes that’s how they do that 'moment of shock realisation' thing)...

Immediately I felt sick - my stomach dropped through the floor and my mouth went dry.

"What blood test - why didn't you tell me!" I squeaked

Mrs spimf then calmly told me that she had spoken to the nurse and explained my fear of needles. The nurse who had obviously experienced this before advised her not to tell me I was having blood taken, apparently when you get really scared or uptight about something your veins kind of shrink back a bit and it can be a bit of a bugger to get a needle in, which obviously just makes things worse for wimps like me. But my reluctance to 'JUST EAT THE FUCKING MUFFIN' had forced by beloved to blow her cover.

I sat pale and quiet for the rest of the journey

When we got there my usual cheery banter was notably missing. When we got into the nurses little room I started to feel even worse. The nurse was decent about it but we still ended up with me - a burly 36 year old Glaswegian, on a gurney, curled up in the foetal position, fists teeth and rectum clenched tighter than a fat birds shoe - mrs spimf holding my hand with me not so much shaking but almost convulsing with a fear I have never known before.

Of course I only felt a slight prick in the end.
( spimf ™ is whoever you want him to be, Fri 11 Apr 2008, 14:01, 3 replies)

I have some fairly conventional ones
planes, thunderstorms, that sort of thing. These come from childhood, though. More interesting for me are the ones which seem to have come on since I've been an adult.

Clothes shop mannequins. I get more and more scared of these as the years go by. I'm fairly sure it's not a Doctor Who thing, either. I'm powerless to explain it.

I also have a recurrent nightmare about having my throat cut. Two years ago I had an operation on my neck which required just that, so helpfully I now have a 3 inch long scar right across my windpipe.
( dotmund .co.uk, Fri 11 Apr 2008, 13:58, Reply)

i have a fear of being nauseous. the cunter is that my fear often has the symptoms of making me feel nauseous, in a twatty little viscious circle
means my subconsious can and does make me feel like anxiety ridden shit almost randomly. the only cure is to imagine i'm beating the crap out of some sort of anthropomorphic personification of my fear. gets my andrenalin going and pulls me out of the cycle i guess. sure it's not healthy tho.
( monstrinho do biscoito teeeshurts = www.nogunarmy.com, Fri 11 Apr 2008, 13:52, Reply)

a recent one
Is sitting down on buses, i used to be able to drive to my old office and park right outside but now i am back in the good ol centre of bris i park up in redland and ride the bus down some days. I just cant bring myself to sit down, the thought of literally thousands of other peoples unwashed stinky pink sitting cushions makes me want to vom. It doesnt matter if the bus is empty i wont sit down. What makes it worse is if its an older bus with stairs and the gangways are narrower , i look like a perv wanting to get a rub up off some unexpecting lady with lady bits. Sod it being a perv is better than someone elses ass juice seeping through the chair and getting me.
( SteveFrench Cardio is for homo's. do you even lift bro?, Fri 11 Apr 2008, 13:51, 1 reply)

A few years ago I started to have a recurring dream...
.... about gagging to death on a bull's cock.

As I die in the dream, large amounts of bull semen seeps from my nostrils, and pools in my lifeless eye-sockets... and you can see the movement in my neck as the bull withdraws from deep in my lungs.

It's probably not relevant, but I thought I'd mention it anyway..
( Humpty Dumpty was Pushed Is unaware of having any limits., Fri 11 Apr 2008, 13:44, 3 replies)

Just the though of......
...biting any kind of cutlery or having any kind of metal near my teeth sends me into involuntary shudders.

I also fall of the chair if my housemate drags his fork across his plate.
(Balron doesn't care how big his photos are, Fri 11 Apr 2008, 13:42, 1 reply)

my friend b
is pretty odd. wonderful. but pretty odd. and has lots of phobias (daffodils???). but her oddest is probably brushes.

thats right brushes

all shapes all sizes from tooth brushes to all the way up road sweepers.

she has made me buy her a tooth brush before as she cant stand to see lots of them all at once. she has to brush her teeth with her eyes closed. she will cross the road if she sees a man brushing the road. she lives in mortal fear of road sweepers. even talking to her about brushes sets her off. she wont watch basil brush as she doesnt like the association to the word and even that might make her sick. its hilarious.

she also has a fear of pigeons (in fact pecking birds in general) once walking down the road with her she saw a few pigeons on the pavement in front of her so ran across the road to where a man was sweeping the road (a pigeon/brush pincer movement if you will) she instinctively ran away from the brush into the pigeons who flew up all around her. she screamed in panic. i cried with laughter.

i am going to carry out a test on her right now. i will email her a photo of a brush but name the file kitten.jpg. ill post back here with the response.
(ivebeenhigh i've climbed so high, Fri 11 Apr 2008, 13:38, 1 reply)

Doctors.
I'm not scared of them, I just tend not to trust them.

As a young lad I had Pneumonia... Badly.
The doctor told my dad that I had to be examined, and he demanded a urine sample.

I had NO idea what that was... the white-coated git then stood me on the table and yanked my trousers down, turned around and then turned back to me holding a beaker.

Now... my father had been quite clear about this point. "If anyone tries to make you do things you don't want, and if they ever try to take your clothes off or play with your willy, hit them and run away as fast as you can... and make LOTS of noise."

It took 3 nurses to pin me down.

With the sound of my screams trailing behind me in my wake, and a sonic shock-wave in front of me I had made it a good 150 meters down a long long corridor.

My dad who'd been waiting outside the exam room finally caught up as the nurses explained that all was ok... and at full volume I explained that "The man tried to touch my willy"... Just as the Doctor turned up holding a blood stained cloth to his nose.

... My dad HAD been quite clear: Hit and run.

The made the mistake of swearing at me... and to this day I've never seen my dad so horribly angry. He didn't raise his voice or a hand.. he was cool and calm, but the atmosphere was ice cold and electric.

Since that day I've mistrusted doctors who see humans as machines that need to be processed.

***************************

The Hannah incident
Forward wind to University, Year 1.
Hannah was my first serious girlfriend. We used to stay up all night and screw like bunnies. early on in our relationship she said "erm.. I've got Chlamydia, and you need to go get checked: I've made an appointment for you"

The words struck fear into my soul. Doctor, Winkie, pokey-pokey: No F'kin Way!!!

We went there to talk to them.. got directed to the "Health advisor" who's job it was to alay the fears of the patients, and explained my doctor-winkie-mistrust issue. I simply wanted to know what the test entailed, and wanted to make sure there'd be no surprises.

"Don't worry Humpty, the test simply involves wiping the tip of your penis with a swab"
Oh right, then I can do it and hand the swab to you?
No, It has to be done by a professional.
?? I don't want to brag, but when it comes to touching MY winkie, I'm *the* pro.
Well, I'm sorry, but that's the way it is.....

This went on for a bit, I got accused of being irresponsible "It's more than you you know, you could infect other people"
Bear in mind that I was told this infront of my girlfriend... neither of us were too chuffed.

Roll on the day of the test.

I know doctors use big words and sometimes it's hard to understand them all, but I never expected "simply wipe the end of your penis" to actually mean "Shove 3 different tools up your trouser-snake's only eye and twizzle them around until you bleed"

The last one - oh what a laugh - was a ring on a stick, resembling the aerial on Po's head (tellytwat) with sharp little edges froma worn mould: That went in at least 40mm.

I expressed surprise, and explained that the "health advisor" had said that this was a simple "wipe the tip" operation. The lovely matriarch who was administering the twizzle-stick torture said "Strange, she does this test on Wednesdays"

I saw red.

I nipped in to the "Advisor's" office and asked her why she lied to me....

"I thought it was for the best, otherwise you wouldn't have done the test"

Hang on a tick... my issues were with TRUST and NOT being surprised. How in the blue blazes did you think that actively LYING to me and ensuring that I got a nasty surprise was going to HELP?

Following the advice of the lady who'd poked at me, I wrote a letter of complaint.


Result 1: I had a clean-winkie bill of health: but I did have chlamydia in my eye. Hooray for rubber... and spending hour after enjoyable eating mimsies until they froth...

Result 2: When I went back to get my results, she'd been fired.



Damn... that turned into a rant. I'm sorry...
( Humpty Dumpty was Pushed Is unaware of having any limits., Fri 11 Apr 2008, 13:36, 3 replies)

Irrational fears? You've come to the right place.
I have diabetes and take insulin by injection. It's gotten better now, but for a long time I was genuinely scared that, while drawing up a dose, i would *spontaneously stab myself in the eye with an errant needle.

If someone so much as touches me while I'm medicating, I basically bark at them.
(tinyninja, Fri 11 Apr 2008, 13:34, Reply)

bathroom dwelling spiders...
I'm not a massive arachnophobe, but i really hate those 'house spiders' bad_dogg mentioned a few posts down..

My grandad lives out in the countryside, and around harvest time these things would invade the house. The Jack Russell was well trained and use to eat the things (along with everything else, blackbirds, hairbrushes and tubs of bicarbonate of soda) but he must of missed this one...had the most frightening experience in the bathroom....

After a nice hot shower, i wrapped a towel round my waist and sat on the toilet seat feeling dizzy. Sitting there flushed and panting when i feel a odd tingling sensation on my bollocks. Open up my towel to find one of these hefty little house spiders hanging from my testicles. Cue fits of hysterics and frantically trying to remove this spider that had become so fond of my nads...

He scurried off into the washing basket...

Now I cant sleep if the fucker's are in my room and I always have to check my towel when getting out of the shower now. But any other type of spider is just fine...
(dangleberries, Fri 11 Apr 2008, 13:32, Reply)

My unusual childhood phobias, what they all had in common, and an attempt to understand the root cause of discrimination.
When I was aged 6-9, I had a couple of unusual phobias.

To start with, when my parents got me a copy of the Alice in Wonderland book, there was an image of Alice with a long neck. This picture freaked the shit out of me. I could see this unholy apparition and just found it extremely disturbing. I was only 6 at the time, and my mother was reading me the book. Instead of listening attentively, I was scared to death that there might be more scary illustrations. The long-necked Alice continued to haunt me for some months to come. Although it petrified me, it had some sort of fascination to it (fascinated by it's scariness?), but that lead me to think about it more and even looking at it - thus making that unholy image appear in my thoughts more often. In the end, I persuaded my mum to hide the book. She hid it so well she forgot where she put it, and that even today some 30 odd years later, the last I heard she still hadn't found it (she still lives at the same address).


When I was 8 (or possibly 7), I came across a picture that showed the evolution of human skulls from the earliest hominids to Homo Sapiens. I found regular skulls a bit scary, but looking at the elongated skulls of Homo Whatever frightened me. It was some ancient primeval force come back from the dead.



Then, there were non-standard TV test patterns. One day, instead of seeing the usual one, I saw one that looked like a Christmas tree and it scared me.

And then, aged 9, I saw a cartoon which had an episode that featured a flash-forward to the future. To make it look like it was a long time from now, the characters appeared to have aged considerably. They had not become deformed in some hideous way, but even so, their older selves terrified me. From that point on, I became terrified of seeing older versions of people who I had seen younger. Looking at old people did not bother me, it was just seeing them age. For a couple of weeks after I saw that cartoon, I was afraid I'd have a nightmare and witness someone age. Likewise, I was afraid I'd see such a thing happen in another cartoon. Nowadays, I've pretty much gotten over it. Documentaries that feature an old photo of someone and then cut to them being interviewed many years later don't bother me. However, that Star Trek episode where Dr Pulaski ages rapidly still sends shivers down my spine, but the horror is nowhere near as bad as what it was when I was 9.

OK, so there's a pattern beginning to emerge. Can you guess what it is?

.

.

.

.

If you've guessed "Fear of distorted images", you're right. The unusually long neck, the stretched skulls, the unorthodox test pattern and changing facial features - all a sign of distortion of some kind.

One of my hobbies is reverse engineering psychedelic drugs (this would have been a good answer for the "How nerdy are you" question). I have never taken any psycedelics (in fact, I've never taken anything stronger than Alcohol), and have never meditated myself into a similar state of mind, so I have no firsthand experience of 'that' state of mind. People who've had such an experience often say that it's impossible to describe and they say that written accounts barely scratch the surface. Being the geek that I am, I like to read through experiences of trips and from what information I can gather, give myself the challenge of trying to mentally re-construct what state of mind I'll end up in and how this will affect my perception of the world and try and imagine myself in that state of mind. One way of looking at it: Imagine if you're English and the only foreign language you speak is poor French. Now, go to Morocco and try talking to some Arab whose only foreign language is a different kind of poor French. Communication will be slow to say the least, and only the simplest of concepts can be communicated. Now, with an English speaker, you can communicate more fluently. Try and imagine yourself connected to the Arab by a 'perception-pipe'. This 'perception-pipe' is narrow, thus restricting the flow of ideas. With the English person, the pipe will be somewhat wider. Now, if you have a PHD and you're communicating with someone who also has a PHD in a similar field, the 'perception-pipe' will be wider still. To properly describe a psychedelic experience would require a pipe several orders of magnitude wider that makes the size-difference between the other three pipes look miniscule by comparison. In fact, instead of a three-dimensional hollowed cylinder, the 'pipe' may have to be a shape of more than 3 dimensions. The narrowing of the 'perception-pipe' is probably deliberate to prevent your brain from being overwhelmed. Also, if you've experienced the world from different points of view, that also helps. Just bear in mind that the points-of-view space is much bigger and has many more dimensions than you previously imagined. I have started reading Aldous Huxley's "The Doors of Perception" but never got round to finishing it. Also around 1999, I was browsing someone’s personal webpage and they had page after page of pictures of raves and their lighting effects (strobe-lights, laser lights, etc), and after a couple of pages of this, there was a link to lots of drug-resources, and one of these pages had experiences of LSD/'Shrooms/etc.

So what the blazing gadzunkas does my geeky waffle have to do with fear of distorted images, I hear you ask? You know I mentioned above that I have never had a psychedelic experience? I may have been wrong. I have an extremely faint memory of experiencing something that might have resembled a bad trip in my very early childhood. Maybe it was a bad dream, or maybe I may have accidentally eaten something one of my childminders left carelessly lying around (it would not have been my parents - they did not do that sort of thing). What happened was that I remember everything becoming more colourful and lovely. This lasted for a bit, and then everything became completely scary. This lasted for a while. When it was beginning to subside, I started to think of the wonderful things that I saw, but that did not help me 'recover' because I was still able to conceive the things I experienced in my disturbing experience (I cannot remember any details). This memory must have remained completely repressed until my teenaged years. I had not done any drugs but did hear about the concept of the bad trip and the word Psychedelic. Had I heard of the word 'Psychedelic' when I was aged 3, I recon my communication would have improved dramatically. Now, you can use 'fuck-feeling' if you don't know what 'orgasm' means, but AFAIK, there's no such substitute for 'Psychedelic'. Anyway, at the time, It did remind me that this might have possibly happened, but only remembered the outline. I have a theory that when I saw the picture of Alice with the long neck aged 6, this may have triggered a flashback to my state of mind I had in that psychedelic experience I may have had. The distortion would have reminded me of the distortions caused by psychedelic experiences. If it wasn’t the result of accidentally ingesting a hallucinogen, maybe my brain hadn't fully formed it's perception-pipe-limiting abilities yet, or maybe I was just ill, or maybe it was just a bad dream.

Anyway, the last time I looked up "fear of distorted images" on Google, I couldn't find anything. I don't know if there's anything on Wikipedia because I have absolutely no idea where to look. Perhaps someone could give me some helpful pointers. Who knows, maybe I've stumbled across something previously unknown in psychology.

One implication that this could have is that it might shed light on the root cause of racism. Seeing someone who’s skin is a different colour than what you're used to might be considered a 'distortion' and if the person suffers from fear of distorted images, this may force them to subjectively come up with negative perceptions of their own accord. Now, if this person lives in a racist culture, they may have their beliefs re-enforced by racists who cement these evil ideas in their heads. While nearly everyone has seen the full range of skin-colours, not everyone has seen an image of someone suffering from Cherubism (see here for a picture). Now, if you're feeling shocked, maybe it's because somewhere deep down inside, you're also suffering from fear of distorted images to some extent.

Nowadays, I'm a big fan of the surreal. I kind of like distorted images. I produce surreal texts and some badly drawn surreal cartoons, and have even written a screensaver that distorts the colours of an image of the desktop.

Oh, and from an olfactory point of view, I was afraid of the smell of Olives and TCP when I was a child. Not sure if this has anything to do with distortions, but I was scared of their smells. Nowadays, Olives are not exactly my favourite food but at least I'll eat them now.

Length? Distorts according to mood.
( mistaspakkaman and the inedible shifting caterpillars, Fri 11 Apr 2008, 13:30, 4 replies)

Two words.
Colossal Squid.

( Scrambled Edd www.eddsworld.co.uk, Fri 11 Apr 2008, 13:28, 9 replies)

More
Fat people are scary. I know it's kind of mean and everything but I used to always think that they'd be sick on me because they ate so much. (Scared of sick.)

Now I realise that they won't be sick on me but I'm just scared of them as lots of fat people I have met are loud and animated and that makes me nervous. Dunno why.

Yes I realise that most fat people are lovely. Don't hate me.
(CakeCat, Fri 11 Apr 2008, 13:23, 8 replies)

Monkeys
Bugger knows why, but I have an irrational phobia of monkeys. They just creep me out, everything about them. They shouldn't be allowed on the same planet as me, I'm that creeped out by them.

I can't even watch a movie with them in, unless they're CG and then I'm fine, just real ones, scary.

Have fun
(NosmoKing, Fri 11 Apr 2008, 13:23, Reply)

not so much a phobia as an irrational fear
that the petrol station will explode in a huge fiery fireball just as I'm filling up my car, and that I'll be vapourised.
(happylittletulip helpless and delicious, Fri 11 Apr 2008, 13:22, 1 reply)

plates n knives
I don't really go out to eat (unless its somwhere that mainly does food you don't need to cut) as the sound of my dining companion moving their knife across a plate is enough to put me off my dinner.
So for my anniversary we're going to one of those Moroccan places where there are lots of plates with bite-sized portions :-)

(my very first post!)
(badbunny, Fri 11 Apr 2008, 13:17, Reply)

Slighty unusual perhaps...
Other than the fairly common arachnophobia (I'm terrified of anything spider-like including plastic toy spiders, and even a fluffy stuffed cat-toy spider a friend of mine has), I have a couple of weird phobias:

1) People on stilts. This may stem from associating scary clowns with stilts.

2) I have a strange form of batophobia (fear of high buildings), but it's a very specific type of tall building that scares me. Clock towers. When I was a kid, my evil stepfather would use the 'scary church car park' in Halifax (also known as the Parish Church car park), and park the car as near to the clock tower as possible just so I'd freak out. But then, he's a right bastard.

Oh, and I guess...
3) People on stilts at the top of clock towers holding spiders.
(bedsitmartyr : Doctor of Bottles, Fri 11 Apr 2008, 13:16, Reply)

the insides of honeydew melons
it looks like a big insect.

aargh
(happylittletulip helpless and delicious, Fri 11 Apr 2008, 13:16, 10 replies)

Underwater video game levels
Possibly started by 'Echo the dolphin' where you had to slowly.. slowly sneak through the octopus' grasp on the second level; inevitably I would end up flinching and killing myself on this horrific alien-like beast and from then on, underwater levels just scare me up proper.. brr..

Just end up imagining something HUGE is going to try and swallow me up in the dark depths in Tomb Raider or Mario..
(wide walking will, Fri 11 Apr 2008, 13:15, 2 replies)

chalk
I hate it!! Thinking about its chalky dustiness makes me shiver and puts my teeth on edge.
If I'm watching a film and someone is writing on a blackboard I have to cover my ears.
I was so glad when they invented marker boards.

I did an A level in fine art and we had to do lots of charcoal drawings. These were very, VERY hard for me.
I believe that's the reason I got a C.
(saf, Fri 11 Apr 2008, 13:12, 2 replies)

FISH!!!
And most especially EELS!!
There is nothing that terrifies me more than the thought of coming into contact with a fish! I quite like looking at them at aquariums and I don't mind eating the odd fish finger from time to time but I really can't bear the thought of one touching me. I'd rather touch a snake to be honest!!!
( DUMBLONDE is a rubber lover girl, Fri 11 Apr 2008, 13:10, Reply)

Kiddie Stuff
What I've noticed so far is the amount of programmes and films aimed at kids that have scarred at least 2 generations for life.
I remember watching films like The Devils and Nightmare on Elm Street as a kid and not being affected and then having years of nightmares about Worzel Gummidge.

To the growing list of childhood terrors, may I add those fucking people on wheels in Return to Oz? #Hides behind office chair#
( Boss Keloid Got your mother's maiden name tattooed on my arm, Fri 11 Apr 2008, 13:09, 4 replies)

The only thing i can think of
Ginger Pubes.

I know red heads are the sweetest people alive, but i could never be romantically involved with one, just the thought of ginger pubes freaks me out.

I cant imagine why, I dont think ive even encountered ginger pubes up close ever, but if i did, i think id run away in the most impolite way.
(spent.fish flipping and gasping, Fri 11 Apr 2008, 13:04, 5 replies)

WASPS
'The skinheads of the insect world'

Aaaarrrgggh, horrible little fuckers, what purpose do they serve? Causing pain to people. At least bees have the good grace to die. And make honey. The sight of a wasp makes me squeal like a girl and run in the opposite direction. Being stuck in a car with one is my idea of utter hell. I fucking hate them. The one and only time I summoned the courage to try and kill one, it was on my lounge window and I put my hand through and ended up in hospital for weeks. Little yellow and black CUNTS. It just made my fear even worse.

Oh and heights. Even a small ladder will make me freak out and get dizzy. But things like rollercoasters are OK. I've figured out that it's to do with control: if I'm in charge and if any stumble means I plummet to my doom….that sets me off and I can barely move and have to be talked into coming down. But as long as I've got support (I'm strapped in, or there is a rail/wall), I'm OK. My missus once had to coax me down a massive long pathway cut into the side of a cliff in Capri in Italy - it started off wide and a gradual incline, but soon became a nightmare of broken steps and sheer drops. It took 2 hours for us to get down :(
(ginger ninja, Fri 11 Apr 2008, 13:01, 2 replies)

Flying
Flying is wrong for me. It's fine for everyone else, but if I fly again I will die. I cannot stress this enough - especially to the people who say "Oh yeah, I'm scared of flying, just have a pint beforehand". NO! That is not a fear of flying, that's an excuse to have a pint. Flying will kill me. If I ever drink enough to get on a plane again I will die of liver failure before we get off the ground - and it'll all be the plane's fault.

The bigger the plane the worse it is, I might at a push get in an engine less glider about to be pushed off a cliff (go figure) but the moment more than 4 people can get on board it's completely wrong. Just the image of the inside of a plane has me recoiling in horror, the real thing causes a full on panic attack. And don't get me started on the A380, words fail me it's so terrifying.

For the record, my dad's a pilot and I fully believe flying is perfectly safe for everyone else (except in the A380, that's a coffin waiting to plummet).
(MsZuzu, Fri 11 Apr 2008, 12:58, 6 replies)

Nervous Sphincter.
The last few pages have made quite interesting reading for someone who for whatever the reason briefly studied phobic responses. You'll be relieved to hear that you lot are mostly normal, but I won't bore you with the psychology.

I too have a phobia. Of sorts. Unfortunately the general definition of a phobia is that it's a fear that you are consciously (or over-consciously) aware of, and mine doesn't fall into that category. It seems that my body has, quite independently, developed a phobia that my thinking mind was in blissful ignorance of until relatively recently.

So, I've just returned from a long journey across the wilds of Central Asia. As is sensible when voyaging in countries whose sanitary provisions haven't undergone any significant updates since the days of Genghis Khan, I brought decent quantities of Immodium, assuming I wouldn't make it to Kazakhstan without contracting some mild bacterial horror. I had my wet wipes. I was ready. We left the airport behind, and set out across the desert. And I waited.

And waited. And waited.

Three days, and I felt fine. I went to the "toilet" (squalid hole in the ground complete with mighty frozen shit-stalactite) several times a day, and took my time, but not even the vague pre-faecal tremors did I feel. Not to worry - it's not been that long. Get some orange juice down yer.

Two more days, and nothing. Feeling a bit groggy and off my food, but alone of all our group have managed not to contract the galloping shits from some dubious Mongolian mutton stew. They're back and forth to the khazi like it's a relay race; I remain beatifically bunged up. I become the genial dispenser of goodwill in the form of industrial shite-stopper.

One more day, and we come to another hostel. I retreat to the bathroom, fully stocked up with hot flannels and reading materials, hoping that the familiar posture and rather less open-plan surroundings will do the trick.

Forty minutes, and nothing. I feel like I'm about to have a stroke; there's a violent pain in my head, and I've torn a couple of intercostal muscles. I feel weak as a jellyfish, and I've achieved nothing. What on earth is going on? I don't feel physically ill, beyond what you'd expect of someone who hasn't crapped for over a week. I can't get that horrible Sennakot advert where women pour increasing amounts of food into their overflowing handbags out of my head. I just can't think what is wrong.

Then I remember.

Before this, I haven't been away on holiday for a little under two years. I've had the odd weekend here and there at friends' houses, but nothing beyond that. Which means that I haven't been away from private bathroom facilities for more than a couple of days at a time since a little happening that is referred to only as The Incident (TM). The Incident occured under conditions almost entirely self-wrought, which detracts not a wit from its severity, nor the deeply scarring effect it has evidently had upon my subconscious.

It was a beautiful sunny day, and I was hungover to fuck. My best friend and I were driving to visit my mother in St. Ives in Cornwall. The night before, in an attempt to relive the glorious summers of our late teenagehood, we'd gone to Newquay (now a scummy stain of its former self, thanks to Easyjet doing flights from Stansted and unleashing a plague of fake-tanned high-heeled henpigs) and got utterly slaughtered somewhere awful, then slept in the back of the car. Class to the bone, etc. I'd woken up, feeling 'surprisingly OK' in that way that surely presages the onset of Satan's Vengeance on your internal organs in a few short hours. Pre tea and toast, I was fine. After tea and toast, I was fit only for fitful groaning and being propped up in the front seat for a (gently, please) journey down the road to St Ives.

Things did not go well. For a start, it was a swelterer of a day. And we'd forgotten to bring any water. And I was in dire need of water, or coke, or anything vaguely liquid in character. I felt bad. My head hurt. My arms hurt. I felt sick, and weary, and above all I felt that vague, bleak sense of hangover-guilt that causes you to recall everythign that happened the previous night (even if nothing significant) with a queasy, squirmy sense of shame. I wasn't exactly on top form.

But I knew what could sort me out, and its name was Irn-Bru. As much as I hate the toxic-orange teeth-melting stuff in the normal course of things, it is - and I'll back it over any other substance you care to name - the best hangover cure ever. Ever. It's not permanent, but by God, it's fast. It's got me out from some very dark places before, and I had faith that it wouldn't let me down in this, my hour of need.

We passed a service station. I asked my friend to stop, intending to pop (or rather trudge heavily) into the shop to get some of the Scots magic potion, and to use the facilities - for lo, the beershits were sending forth their unmistakable harbingers. So in I went, looking like Helena Bonham Carter after a night on the meths. The shopkeeper, seeing my predicament, waved me in the direction of the toilet within the shop itself, which was a large disabled facility (no cubicle.)

I went in. There was a large mirror over the sink, in which I could see myself. I looked bad. I slumped, weary of life, on the throne. Lubricated by an excess of 12-hour-old bad Asti, things began to happen. But I'd forgotten that I'd had rather a large pasty the night before, and then another one at about 4am. This, it turns out, was putting the doozie on my bowels.

However, as already noted in some detail, I wasn't in any sort of condition to push. A mere turn of the head was enough to set throbs of agony through my suffering soul; a concentrated strain would have been violently painful. So I did what anyone else* would have done. I grabbed hold of the cripple-rail with both hands, and bodily heaved against it, letting my upper arms take the strain. And it worked, sort of. Movement was noted. Still holding onto the rail, I steeled myself for the final push.

At which point, the door flies open, and an elderly man is greeted with the sight of my horrified arse, suspended quivering over the bowl, turtle’s head in plain view. He’s in shock. He stares at me. I stare back. He tries to shut the door, but in his panic he flings it so hard that it bangs even further open, exposing me in all my glory to the ENTIRE shop, queueing customers, browsing patrons, attendants and all.

I don’t remember the next few seconds. I may have let out a pathetic whimper of distress. My poo having beaten an immediate, terrified retreat, I screamed at him to shut the door, then scraped whatever shattered vestiges of dignity remained to me together and attempted to walk calmly out, out of the shop, across the forecourt and back into the car. I'm not sure whether the full-on stares or the faintly disgusted smiles of sympathy from the other customers were worse.

According to my friend, all I managed to say, white-faced and trembling, was “We are leaving. We are leaving now.” She only got the story out of me much, much later.

And ever since then, patient readers, I’ve developed a nervous sphincter. I simply can’t go in a public toilet, no matter how grave the need. Something, deep in my subconscious, recalls the pain and shame and shock of that moment and involuntarily bottles me up until I can get back to my own toilet – secluded, private, and most importantly, double-locked. I knew I’d tell the story of The Incident on b3ta one day – I’ve missed one too many opportunities, and I guess it just had to come out sometime.

Apologies for…well, everything, really.
(jennymnemonic, Fri 11 Apr 2008, 12:55, 4 replies)

Toilets
I either have to be near a toilet or at least know where a toilet is. Whenever I change job (which is quite often!) I make sure that I fnd all the toilets there are between home and work (and back again!). Going on holiday is a real chore......... When entering a new restaurant or pub I immediately check where the toilets are.

"Irritable Bowel Syndrome" apparantely. I would wish it on my worst enemy!
(Pork2311, Fri 11 Apr 2008, 12:52, 7 replies)

Urk.
The sound of other people brushing their teeth. And hence, toothpaste adverts.
(BeerPoweredNoiseFrenzy, Fri 11 Apr 2008, 12:51, 1 reply)