Alan Hansen
There's just something about him that scares the bejeesus out of me. Possibly the fact that he looks like a giant, living Lego man...
(teacake, Tue 15 Apr 2008, 10:05, Reply)

The music
From 2 girls - one cup.

The video, doesnt bother me in the slightest. But the music from it... its evil.
(Michael J Fox is having a shaky start., Tue 15 Apr 2008, 10:04, 1 reply)

Toxoplasmosis
Cats are dirty dirty sponging con-artists. They subvert gullible folk into thinking they're all 'cwoot and fluffeh' while taking complete liberties left right and centre.

What's more, their owners (marks) are so deluded that they find it amusing that their little parasitic feline will spend half the day outside then come back and shit in your house (I don't care if it's in a special plastic tray!) so you have to clean it up. The process of cleaning it up then exposes you to the brain-leeches in their shit that can actually change your cognitive functions to make you even more gullible and accepting of their liberties until you die of a massive brain tumor.

The cherry on this particular dung-pile is that they come complete with a whole range of other parasites of their own. Not just leeching your hard-won resources themselves, but coercing you into providing for their own colony of parasitic beasties.

Dirty, Dirty b@stards.

For this reason (and more) I do not break for cats, preferring to accellerate and swerve toward them, thus doing the world a service.
(Greencloud Wanted to go fishing on, Tue 15 Apr 2008, 9:43, 11 replies)

Reminds me of........
That story in the paper of an old woman who had a phobia of flying. Years and years it took to convince her to go up in a plane and confront her fear / conform to societys ideals.

Of course when they finally got her up in a plane the bastarding thing crashed thus confirming her fear as totally rational..and surely disqualifying it from being a phobia. Not that it matters her being smashed into millions of pieces and all.


Anyway my fear is dogs. It's a mutual thing as I hate them and seemingly they ALL hate me. Always putting their snivelling nose in my hand - I know they want to bite me and whatever it is I hold (NOTHING IDIOT DOG). Sniffing my bum/groin.

Also whoever mentioned the "it's MY dog he won't bite ya" - you deserve bonus points because that is such a common phrase and inevitably ends in me getting savaged while the owner looks on.

Why can't all dogs just die?
( whenanimalsattackhumans clad in global hypercolour, Tue 15 Apr 2008, 9:11, 5 replies)

Actually having to work
I'll freely admit that 90% of my time at work is spent surfing the the web... with 10% spent on fixing designs and generally making people feel relieved... thus earning my crust.

It just so happens though that I have major misgivings about that way this place is run, I mean... there are some idle gits here who only work 10% of the time.

So.. I look for jobs elsewhere. I read the job descriptions, and it sounds as though I'll have to work all of the time. ... No dice.

I'm stuck here. Not working, disgruntled and bored.

A downward spiral and a never-ending vicious circle of chronic lazyness.
( Humpty Dumpty was Pushed Is unaware of having any limits., Tue 15 Apr 2008, 8:10, 6 replies)

I mentioned earlier that I can't stand cheese...
Had to go see the Dr yesterday - my finger has swollen up and is very painful.

He took one look and said "It looks like gout." (cue much hilarity form the SO when I told her).

Anyhoo, I googled gout to see what I could do to help - you guessed it, cheese apparently is a food type which can help. The SO decided I needed to be tied down (I'm fine with THAT bit) and force fed cheese.

When she said this, I went pale and fainted.
( snee held his breath since, Tue 15 Apr 2008, 8:09, 2 replies)

ear cleaning death.
I break out in sweat every time I clean my ears, certain that some sudden, loud noise will surprise me at the wrong moment, and cause me to jerk violently, thereby lodging my cleaning utensil of choice into some horrifically painful and damaging region of the ear canal (or, indeed, brain).

And so I find myself running through long lists of possible disasters, standing there in the bathroom, reasoning that, should any of them occur whilst I'm scraping around in the deeper areas, I will be prepared, and not accidentally puncture anything by reacting. Gunshots? No problem. Fire alarm? No problem. Explosion? War breaking out in front of my house? Cat fight? Ghost? Alien invasion? Spontaneous human combustion? All fully expected. And, with all of these events solidly, hypothetically very possible according to my brain, I hope to heaven that I will put down my q-tip with heroic calm before doing anything else.
(harmless kitty, Tue 15 Apr 2008, 7:21, 1 reply)

Dogs. Needles. Dogs armed with needles.
Two big ones for me:

1. Dogs. When I was two years old I was pretty severely savaged by a poodle. (I know, pit-bull, rotweiller sounds way cooler, but poodles are fucking cunt-dogs bred to be utterly insane bastards, and are always owned by complete cunts.) I have vague early memories of a set of snarly dog-fangs trying to bite my face off - it managed to tear a good chuck of my neck apart, and I was lucky to live. My dad ended that poodle's life with a mattock, bless him, but it did start a very long feud with the neighbours.

Anyway, these days I just avoid dogs, but the little shit-machines can smell fear I think, so the most common greeting I get from dog-owners is "He's never bitten anyone before, he's always so gentle." I do warn people with dogs to keep them away from me, they tend to say "Oh, but MY dog is well-behaved." I usually then ask them if they are allergic to peanuts - if they say yes, I tell them that they taste fine to me, so why don't they eat them?

I also tend to react fairly aggressively to dogs that try to bite me, having read some martial-arts stuff on fending of animals; if someone's pekinese goes for my ankle I have no qualms about kicking it as hard as possible in the throat. I can understand that you may like dogs, but I don't like dogs, ok?

2. Needles. Like the entry below, I don't do well with needles of any kind. Just typing about them makes me dizzy. I've had many hilarious episodes scaring the crap out of doctors / friends / strangers with my tendency to pass out when I see one.

Favourite ones include the blood test when I could feel my senses going out one-by-one. The last was hearing and I heard my doctor calling for help then a wierd scraping noise and a sound like wood being dropped on a tile floor - it was the sound of my head scraping along a wall and hitting the floor.

Another fun one was waking up to find the cute dermatologist who had just tried to remove a mole from my chest stradling me and pounding my chest CPR-style, then yelling out the door "Is that ambulance here yet?"

Oddly enough, one of my hobbies is tapestry - I don't have any problem with sewing needles!

I have a phobia of having my arms bitten off by velociraptors, but that has only happened in dreams so far.
(corinoco is waiting for the revolution., Tue 15 Apr 2008, 5:03, 3 replies)

Every so often
mostly while ill or maybe in the grip of a beast of a hangover, and usually when I'm in a dark room, I get a creeping, horrible fear of impending death.

The morbid inevitability of your own mortality isn't something you want to think about too much.

On that cheery thought, I'm off to bed. Sleep well all :D *GRIN*
( baw__bag contains traces of nuts on, Tue 15 Apr 2008, 2:54, Reply)

can't be rid of it!
Mine's not terrible unreasonable, but the level to which I am phobic is. I'm deathly afraid of the herpes simplex virus. I know it's extremely common and that most people have one form or the other, yet the very thought of even having a cold sore just freezes me. I carry Abreva with me everywhere I go and apply it to every spot or tingle anywhere remotely near my mouth.

I think it stems from an episode last year where, after a short burst of promiscuity (I used protection!), I discovered a bump on my nethers that was rather sore to the touch and I was feeling generally ill at the time. I did the wrong thing and googled STDs and convinced myself that I had genital HSV. I called up a friend who had it herself from her husband going down on her with a cold sore (that wasn't visible until days after) and she said my symptoms were pretty consistant. I went to the hospital, waited 4 hours to be seen, panicking all the while. Turned out to just be a bloody ingrown hair. Still, after that, I'm absolutely petrified of getting herpes. I probably have the kind that give you cold sores, as my mom does and I never shyed away from her as a child, even when she had a lip full o' blister. I don't really get cold sores though and if I did, I'd probably have a breakdown. I went through a period of about 4 or 5 months where I had to be medicated for the panic attacks I was having. I lost 25lbs because I couldn't eat!

I'm better now, especially because I realize that a large part of the population of the western world (20% have genital herpes, 80% have some kind of genital HPV) are affected, and clearly not all of them are sans partner. It's not a big deal, but still-I am the most dilligent safer-sex practitioner I know out of sheer fear I'll get one of the minor viral STIs out there.
(twinkletwunt, Tue 15 Apr 2008, 2:32, Reply)

I'm scared there won't be any kitten pictures this week


aaah.
(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Tue 15 Apr 2008, 2:22, 3 replies)

Dry ice
I have this phobia about touching dry ice. I hate the way it feels, the sticky-ness of the surface makes me heave just thinking of it. I hate its smell, I hate its cloudy look, I hate its fog and I hate its existence.

I also hate the feel of bike handlebars after it's been raining. No real reason for that one, I'm just a bit strange with that.

I'm also afraid that people can read my mind when I think nasty things about them, and know my dark terrible secret.
( Grokthought wouldn't pay that for Chinese 5-Spice, Tue 15 Apr 2008, 2:09, 3 replies)

heights, satan, plants and grocery store aisles
I'm afraid of heights. I think that's why I'm a shorty: if I were tall I'd be too scared to stand up. This is a benevolent fear. BUT...

... I have had dreams of epic battles with Satan since I was a child - little me battling futilely against all his malevolent force - and in real life his face would reach out of dishes, plants, my own face in the mirror, laughing at me and taunting me with my inability to defeat him. This had been my life until a few years ago when, hospitalized with severe depression, the doctors recognized schizophrenia when they saw it. Since being heavily medicated I rarely see Old Nick's face leering at me, thank christ, but I have developed many weird phobias:

1: walking down an already occupied aisle in a store. I will weave an endless trail for as long as it takes to find an empty aisle.
2: sitting next to anyone other than close friends. I will cower and shake if I am forced near a stranger. Crowded movies are especial nightmares.
3: answering or using the phone. My friends know that I will not pick up, listen to messages or call them no matter what. These things are done by intermediaries. My friends are very patient (obviously).
4: answer the door. I hide at the sound of knocking.
5: I have a documented fear of a certain town in the San Francisco Bay Area. I can't go near it without hysterically crying, hyperventilating, the works.
6: being with and talking to people makes me cower next to my mom, head down, eyes averted, silent.

Strangely enough, throughout all of this I have not lost my ability to perform on stage. Singing, acting in front of hundreds of people is easy for me. It's real life I have a problem with.

We moved to New Zealand not just for adventure and to escape King Bush the 2nd's reign of terror, but also to be somewhere I was not known as a patient, a mental case, less than I was before. While I'm still medicated (don't worry!) and struggling through my stuff, at least I know that others see me with an eye uncluttered by comparisons with how I used to be but see me as how I am. Somehow that's helping me look at myself that way too - even if just a little bit.

edited to add: sorry if it sounds cheesy :D
(sar "though she be but little she is fierce", Tue 15 Apr 2008, 2:03, 3 replies)

Bridges.
Can't be doing with the bastards. I get dizzy and sweaty and tearful if I'm forced to cross one. In fact, when I started uni and realised I had to cross a bridge to get to some of my lectures, I left for them an hour early so I could take the long way round.

Of course, I found a better solution to that and just didn't bother going to the lectures at all. Sorted my blood pressure out nicely.
(thants, Tue 15 Apr 2008, 1:50, Reply)

Needles
Erm, more specifically procedures that involve needles and veins. Piercings are fine. Tattoos, no problem. Shots I can handle.

Drawing blood, IVs, shooting heroin? I think I’m gonna faint…

Also, the talk of medical procedures makes me woozy.

I fainted three times in school… Once because the teacher went into the gory detail of the days of old when a person infected with rabies would have to get a series of 13 shots in the abdomen. I know, I just said shots don’t bother me, but he was talking about huge long needles and … hold on, I need to compose myself. I also fainted during a nice lecture over some type of surgery to remove something, the details are hazy. The last time I fainted in school was when a boy behind me did something with his hand to make the veins pop up. *wipes sweat from brow*

I should mention when I faint I don’t just put a limp hand to my forehead and gently fall backwards with a small sigh, like a Disney Princess. No. I start to get sweaty and drool, pass the fuck out, crumple to the ground like a sack of lead potatoes, then go into a seizure. THAT’S how bad needles scare me.

In the past 26 years, I only know of 2 times doctors have been able to successfully draw my blood. If it’s happened more than that, it was when I was too young to have memory. Those two times I was heavily sedated. All other times they attempted to take blood I ended up sprawled on the cold tile floor, flopping around, and waking up in a puddle of sweat and drool with a popsicle (ice lollie to you guys) stick jammed in my mouth… to keep me from swallowing my tongue.

There was that one time I went to ER with a friend who was having a heart attack... when he got there his vitals dropped and all sorts of buzzers and alarms went off and a swarm of nurses appeared ... then from fucking NOWHERE one of them stabs in a line for an IV. I ended up fainting on the ER floor and had a whole nurse swam to myself.

Now for the story that tops them all... One night I went out to the local gay club with my friends of the fairy persuasion. I should mention that night the local drag queens decided to put on their own little production of Moulin Rouge. So there I was, happily sitting at table stage right, sipping fruity drinks, and enjoying the lispy redemption of a tale about the oldest profession.

During the intermission (see readjusting fake breasts, making sure all penis was tucked away, and allowing the audience to go out on the dance floor and prance around) one of the people at my table went into gory detail of (THOSE WHO ARE SQUEMISH LOOK AWAY) removing a hangnail. Since I had drank quite a few, I felt I could bear with this… as normally that would be my cue to run far, far away.

Just after the harrowing tale of blood, puss, and *gag* irrigation the lights went down the curtains went up for the grand finale. I mumbled something about not feeling well and thought laying my head on the table would help… The last thing I remember is hearing the music distort in that comical way that sounds like the record was slowing down making the voices get lower… Voulez vous coucher mmmoooooiiiii cceeeeee sssssssssoooooooooooooiiiiiiiiiiiiiiirrrrrrrrr *fade to black* next thing I know I’m surrounded by three drag queens yelling “Call 911!” and two butch lesbians with crew cuts asking me if I knew my name, address, and phone number. I pretty sure my phone number wasn’t needed and they were taking advantage of me. Cue the arrival of two fire engines, three ambulances, and a whole brigade of paramedics flooding into the bar, while the drag queens were screaming “OVER HERE!! OVER HERE!!”.

That’s pretty where the excitement ends, as all they did was take my blood pressure and prick my finger to make sure my blood sugar levels were normal. I told them I normally faint when I hear about gross things… they left before getting mauled by the queens who just love a man in uniform.

Apologies for any grammar/spelling mistakes. I really can’t stomach rereading any of that.

I also find I'm scared of people speaking French after that episode.
(StupidAmericanTourist, Tue 15 Apr 2008, 1:47, 1 reply)

Grim one, sorry
I really don't mind the things that give most normal people the willies. I'll rescue my petrified mum from spiders around the house, go up a 50 ft climbing wall and even bite cotton wool without turning a hair. The one thing that is making me clammy just thinking about it is hanging. The very idea of walking into a room to find someone hanged is utterly dreadful for anyone to contemplate, but this extends to irrational fear. I hate going into rooms on my own in strange places for this single reason. Suicide proof university rooms are a haven of tranquility for me as I don't feel the need to peep gingerly around the door before entering. When I heard of Mark Speight's death, my heart went out to the man's family and friends. When I heard what happened, my blood ran cold. I have no idea how this fear came to be so profound, working out what to do about it is even more of a puzzle to me. Sorry for posting about what is probably a touchy subject for a lot of people, but this is the first I've said about this to anyone.

Length? I'm told shoelaces will do.
(Puddle of Sugar was still wallpapering on, Tue 15 Apr 2008, 0:07, 1 reply)

Mental flatmate
I had this mental flat mate who had a phobia of 'Beefy babies'. I'm not entirely sure how this phobia started, all I know is saying 'beefy babies' in her presence would flip her out.

She was also scared of green softmints. Well scared of both blue and green ones, but I found out when I tried to buy a pack that it was the green ones that terrified her more.

I don't live with her anymore which is good, but you know.....it was far from boring having a flat-mate who freaked out when you threw a pack of soft mints at her!

(One day if I see her again I might buy a pack, slightly open it along the seam and then launch it at her creating a green softmints cluster bomb...)
(MonTheTon, Tue 15 Apr 2008, 0:06, Reply)

Every single time
I get the slightest itch in or near my ear, my first thought is that a spider has laid eggs deep in the ear canal, and the itching is the millions of tiny baby spiders hatching and they're at that very second crawling toward the light.

Its usually earwax though. Although, sometimes I think that the earwax traps the baby spiders in my ear and I dont want to let them out.

But then I think that they have to go *somewhere* and they might be crawling all inside my head and have to come out through my pupils.

Dont do drugs kids.
( I have run out of coke is a little sweaty, Mon 14 Apr 2008, 23:57, Reply)

Magpies
I'm a cyclist, and these swoopy fuckers are the bane of my life come springtime. I'm trying to get some training in for the coming season after a winter of being cooped up and mincing about in the gym.
However, spring is nesting season for these black and white pricks, and they are fiercely territorial. When you ride past a tree in which one has built its nest, it'll sneak up behind you and either smack its wings together just behind your head, scaring you shitless, or pecks your helmet (hur hur), also making you shit yourself and possibly swerve under a truck.
They also have gangs - I was on a ride a couple of years ago and one swooped me, then all down the road, I saw the squawky cunts materialising from other trees, in the fields or out of thin bloody air to sit on the power lines and wait for me to come past. It's about the fastest 3km I've ever ridden, because magpies are pretty big and scary looking when you turn around and one's about two feet from the back of your head.

Thing is, if one's swooping down on you and you turn and catch it, it'll abort its attack because you've seen it, and it can't surprise you.

Fucking sneaky little cunts, I hate them.
(dhroadie, Mon 14 Apr 2008, 22:46, 5 replies)

I shouldn't have read through the other answers
the person with the fear of 'Bright Eyes' by Art Garfunkel has reminded me of how freaked out I used to get when my Nan would play 'Una Paloma Blanca' over and over and over again. And I mean over and over, like lifting the needle and putting it back to the beginning of the record again.

It sounded like how descending into madness would sound if some bastard pressed it on to vinyl.
(man_d is being watched by experts on, Mon 14 Apr 2008, 22:40, Reply)

Vermin
I'm terrified that a mouse will crawl into my washing machine looking for water, and will inadvertently be washed along with my clothes, only to disintegrate and leave horrid mouse bones and a skull and fur in everything. In fact, I'm so scared I live in ignorance and refuse to check the machine pre-wash, and just keep my fingers crossed.
(missmunchkin, Mon 14 Apr 2008, 22:35, Reply)

where to start
i am afraid of cotton wool. not just diliking the touch, a full on, proper phobia. the stuff creeps me out, i can't even relieve myself in a toilet that has it in, i can always hear it.

clowns. why. why. why. why is a man dressed in ridiculous clothes, painted like a cheap hooker funny! it's the stuff of nightmares over here.

spiders
enough said really.

oh, and a good mate ahtes ice. he can't open freezers because of the sound. it jsut gives him the heebie jeebies.

i like to think we are all normal
(scarydylan has lost his scare :(, Mon 14 Apr 2008, 22:33, 1 reply)

Not sure this counts...
But I have a phobia of being pinned down and fucked up the ass by a gorilla.
(Whizzer, Mon 14 Apr 2008, 22:31, 7 replies)

Hahahaaa! I'm starting to feel normal
compared to some of the phobias posted here.

My thing is lettuce. I can't stand it. I can't touch it, I certainly can't eat it and I've never even tried. I don't like the way it looks, I don't like the way I think it must feel in your mouth when you eat it. On the odd occasion I have accidentally touched it I either have to wash my hands or I spend the next hour wiping my hands on my trousers.

What gets really embarrassing is when I'm eating out and I have to eat around the inevitable mountain of the stuff they stick on your plate, making sure there's no little bits on my chips.

I'm also not too proud to ask the person I'm with to pick it all out of my sandwich before then spending the next half an hour inspecting my lunch for bits they might have missed.

Eugh. Just thinking about it makes my shit itch.
(man_d is being watched by experts on, Mon 14 Apr 2008, 22:05, 1 reply)

Heights.
Heights are one, I don't mind been up there but put me anywhere near the edge and I totally freeze and hold on tight to the nearest thing regardless of any protection in the form of a fence, window etc...

Once we were on holiday in Toronto, Canada. Theres something like the world 4th biggest tower or something like that there so of course my dad wants to go up top. Git.

So of we trudge, elevators, stairs, the lot and we get near the top. Big open space so people can go "ooooh aren't we high!" and the like. (yes we are, now stop making me think about it)

Im happily hugging the central wall, peering out the windows and making sure I don't get to close when my younger brother comes and tells me theres something I need to see. Ok I think, cant be too bad and follow him, trusting sap I am.

Leads me round the bend to see... a glass floor, a fucking giant glass floor. I freeze, I get curious, I edge towards it and actually lie on my front so as my weight is spread across the non glass floor (the tower floor is less likely to fall through then you see, so ill live!) and I peer down. Down, down, down, down, down...

"Shitfuckcock!" I start to shake and get up slowly.

My little fucker of a brother pushes me fowards, into the center of the thing...

Took about 10 minutes to get me to walk of the thing, reasoning being - hey sure, its meant to be able to hold a rhino but WHAT IF THERES A FAULT?!

Also I used to be scared of spiders, but I got a pet tarantula to get over it (worked, she's called Fluffy aaaawwww)

Oh and been the center of attention were I feel like I am been judged, so acting, public speaking, dancing and the like mainly. I once started shaking and randomly crying when I was told to read from my essay in school once...
(Guilt wants to get in your moist confines, Mon 14 Apr 2008, 21:39, 2 replies)

Many things make me shudder, but only one phobia...
Spiders, popsicles with wooden sticks, people who use scissors with their index fingers and flushing the toilet in the dark all give me the willies to one degree or another. The thing that blue-screens my brain though, is heights.

I couldn't watch the end bits of King-Kong; just knowing I'm high up in a building/on a cliff/up a tree is enough to make me dizzy and I don't even have to be that high to start feeling sick. My first floor balcony is uncomfortable enough, the space-spanning escalators in Selfridges are appalling.

So when a friend rang and said 'How would you like to climb Mt Blanc?', you'd be right to assume that I laughed jovially and planned a trip to the Dead Sea instead.

Wrong.

Death himself, with a scythe sharpened on the slowest of sunlight could not have created a time any shorter than that between the question and my gormless mind betraying me with a 'sure!'

Off I toddled to Snow+Rock and spent some hard earned happy paper, I borrowed some crampons, I packed my pack and off I went to Chamonix. Why oh why was I there? What the hell did I think I was doing? These and many questions like them were ones I was repeatedly failing to ask myself. Instead I was joyously swimming in Egypt; denial had rendered billions of tons of rock and ice rearing above the valley floor totally invisible.

Some of the party had spent several weeks in the Alps already doing some 'proper' climbing. Mt Blanc was little more than a walk to these alpinistes, appealing to them purely because it's Europe's highest peak. Two of us had joined them just for this stage, so we used the two days we had up our sleeve to 'acclimatise'. This involved heading straight up the cable car to the Aguile du'Midi and toddling off down the ridge toward the Vallee Blanche. When we headed out onto the ridge there was a howling gale blowing, and the low cloud and snow meant I couldn't see more than a few feet in front of me. It wasn't till we headed back up the same way the next evening in clear sunshine that it clicked in my mind that to my right was a vertical drop of a mile or more and I was standing on a foot-wide bit of snow.

Oh

my

god.

Those with vertigo will know that the overriding desire is to make the feeling go away, and illogically the best way to do that seems to be to jump off the offending ledge. (I was at King's Canyon in the Northern Territory and I got the urge. I had to sit a long way away with my back to the 300 foot drop and sing happy birthday to myself to try to block it out. It wasn't even my birthday, just the only thing I could think of.)

Luckily for me, the sheer terror overrode all thought, and I managed to crawl up the ridge and into the safety of the station. My climbing buddy thought this was hilarious - and took great pleasure in reminding me just how crap I'd been for the rest of the day.

Did I learn anything? Did I bollocks.

The next day found me on the train up from the valley to the start of the climb with the rest of the group. I had a wobble or two on some steeper sections, but it wasn't until halfway across the Grande Culoir that the thoroughly repressed gibberings of my normal self burst through the delusions that had gotten me into this mess in the first place. Somehow I managed to cross the last remaining yards, before clinging to the nearest rock, face down, and repeating the calming litany 'I'm going to die, get me down get me down get me down I'm going to die.'

A helicopter was called and the climb, and my nascent mountaineering career, ended there.

My brains are mostly made of teh stupid.
(InfiniteMonkey, Mon 14 Apr 2008, 20:57, Reply)

Another one...

As well as despising cotton wool, I absolutely HATE being tickled. I'll do anything to stop being tickled and I'm on edge for ages afterwards - I've hit a (female) friend round the face with a piece of 2x4 I just happened to be holding because she thought it'd be funny to jab me in the ribs. I wasn't laughing. I've also broken a friend's telly and punched someone in the throat so they couldn't breathe for a while. I swear; if there was a gun handy and someone tickled me I'd blow their face off. Otherwise I'm a pretty placid person...
( Turquoise Hexagon Sun has just dropped acid on, Mon 14 Apr 2008, 20:29, 3 replies)

I dont know if its a phobia of such
But i'm terrified of falling in love.

Seriously, spend all that time fawning over your chosen person ( or thing for all you hoover fanatics out there :P ) of affection and for what at the end? Heartbreak.

God i sound like a cunt :/

anyone know the name of a Fear of Love?

I do however have normal phobias such as the Dark, enclosed spaces, wasps, bees, moths, Daddy long legs and being sick to an extent.

See I'm normal :D
....oh
(Kuja335, Mon 14 Apr 2008, 20:23, 7 replies)