Sorry I haven’t written for two whole days–for once, it isn’t my fault that I haven’t posted anything. I mean, on the seventeenth my parents drove us to Changsha, the city I used to live in, and we stayed the night, and on the eighteenth we went to a courthouse and stayed for like, four hours. I would talk about what it was like in court but I don’t feel like it today so I’m going to write about several irrational phobias I have.
Yes, I fear spiders, and no, I am not ashamed. I am not. Ashamed. Because spiders are legit one of the worst living things you could find in your room except maybe like three-meter snakes and psychotic axe murderers and creepy-ass dog-killers who like licking human hands while they’re hiding under the bed BUT I’M GETTING OFF TOPIC and I was not talking about people that exist in creepypasta SO.
Anyway so I am realllllllllyyy freaking afraid of spiders. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t hate spiders–I am perfectly aware that they are an important part of the world and they catch bugs, which are icky, especially in large numbers. But spiders are icky too…Consider what Patrick Star (yes I watch Spongebob and I’m mostly unashamed of the fact) once said:
I would kill for that net! But like, something small, like a carrot. Not spiders though, spiders are icky. *Shudders*
(This isn’t a word-for-word quote, because I’m quoting this from memory)
Because they have eight beady eyes and eight furry legs (not furry in a good way) and they leap around and they spin these sticky webs that get caught on your face and that you walk into because you can’t see them and they suck blood and they have clicky pincer/fang things and just UGH I am so afraid of spiders. A few years ago this big flat spider used to live on my ceiling, and when he (I thought of it as a he) moved in I was terrified he’d drop down the walls or something, but he always just stayed way up high where I couldn’t hit him with my shoe or anything else, and after a while I got used to him. Then he just disappeared. I thought of him as a kind of friend, I suppose.
This is a fear of clowns. I’m not actually devastatingly afraid of clowns, so I don’t know if I actually have a phobia or I’m just uncomfortable seeing clowns. I hate their makeup, the fact that you can’t see the person beneath all the white paint and the lipstick and the ridiculous costumes. I am so freaked out by clowns–I suppose it has to do with reading too much creepypasta and accidentally clicking on different links that showed creepy photos of them. I keep feeling like they’re hiding weapons in their saggy clothes and their balloons and they’re going to shove you into their tiny clowncar and murder you.
My fear of heights actually is probably not a serious phobia at all. I mean, who isn’t at least a little afraid of really high places? Once when my family was on vacation we came across this old wooden bridge–you know the kind–the sort of bridge that has metal railings and bounces up and down and has a rushing river below it–and as we were crossing it, some people carrying logs were just casually crossing too, and the bridge was swaying, and I felt almost paralyzed–rooted to the spot, clinging to the metal rails and praying that I wouldn’t just slip off or the bridge wouldn’t spontaneously break. It wasn’t even that high up, but I was terrified.
So my fear of water is really not…an actual phobia either, I don’t think, because I’m not afraid of water itself. I’m not afraid of taking showers or anything. But I can’t swim; I am so so so terrified of being in, I don’t know, water that is deeper than I am tall. (And I am not tall, barely five feet.) I just get really tense and I keep thinking that I’ll somehow drown if I get into water where I can’t just stand on the bottom. Which is really freaking bizarre and embarrassing, because who on earth but me cannot swim?
This one is a weird one, because in a way, I kind of like being in smaller spaces. Too large houses and rooms make me uncomfortable because it seems like I’m too small to fill them, and a large space around me will be…empty, I guess. I like hiding out in forts and blanket castles (why don’t we all conveniently forget here that I’m sixteen) and cozy corners. But I don’t like elevators, unless they’re big (and what normal elevator is big?). I don’t like places with too-low ceilings. And just the thought of being buried alive–trapped in a coffin or tombed up like that guy in The Cask of Amontillado–makes me feel sick.
This is a fear of dolls. I don’t like dolls. I’m not going to run away screaming from the dolls in a toy store, and I absolutely love stuffed animals, but dolls–especially the ones that are made to look like toddlers and babies–freak me out. Barbies don’t scare me, because they look relatively more harmless, but baby dolls…no. Just no. I think I’m only creeped out because of creepypasta, again, but, anyway, I am pretty creeped out by dolls and you won’t ever see a “dolly” in my house. Ever. Not even when I have children.
This is actually just a fear of things that look like sentient beings, so I guess dolls should have been included. I hate things like ventiloquist dummies and creepy “realistic” robots. I don’t even know why–I mean, they’re not alive and they’re (probably) relatively harmless. I just don’t like them and I’m really creeped out by them.
And that’s all for today. This was yet another really long journal but I wanted to make up for my lost days. Hope to see more from all of you guys (you know who you are, Lee and Observant Bystander and hopefully some other people who haven’t written for a long time–I’m still hoping TTSA will come back someday) and have a good weekend. Hopefully, I’ll really write more tomorrow.