Chicken Big

Again. I haven’t posted for so long. I am going to try to post at least once a week, especially for my trip to Toronto.

Maybe I’ll even have an audience, if I advertise to my friends, and if they’ll read it. We’ll see if they’ll find it worth reading.

There are five days left before I board one of my greatest phobias. Fear of flying, along with fear of stairs. I can just hear Alex mocking me, “Oh, you have no reason to be afraid of falling down the stairs. I’ve fallen several times and never hurt myself!” Well, lucky you. I’ve fallen and hurt my back very badly, fractured my tailbone. And let’s not get started about getting hit by cars. My tailbone has a magnetic pull to cars and cement. What can I say?

Phobias are silly, really. There is no logic to them, and they stem from childhood, from pain, previous accidents. I have had way too many falling accidents, but not one plane accident. I’ve never had a problem on one, but every time I board, my heart races, my hands shake, and I feel nauseous. Heights and speed have always made me uncomfortable. They both never have been considered fun. I’m no fan of amusement park rides either. Big chicken—it runs in the family.

Let’s blame it on my parents, shall we? After all, we blame everything on them nowadays. My mother had an intense fear of heights (and stairs!), and my Dad was always telling me that something was going to be scary, awful, difficult. There is a lot of fear issues in my family. He told me before I got on my first plane I might get sick, because my sister Monique did. He told me I’d get sick on a motor speed boat ride, or on a train. Really, I’m not making this crap up. I was also born this way too, or was it nurture? It’s hard to tell. Some of my brothers and sisters are prone to motion sickness and scared of heights, but not all of them.

But really, I should take some ownership now. I am really trying to conquer these fears. Facing them, counselling, medication, deep breathing, writing, and practicing music all have helped, but I am not cured. A slow work in progress, or maybe it’s just part of my personality, like having blue eyes and a good sense of humour. Someone told me my nervousness was endearing. If only everyone saw it that way instead of a weakness. I am a natural stress case. How’s that for a Lavalife opening line? Call me Tweek for short, that character in Southpark whose parents feed him coffee and tell him scary stories.

Anyways, I think I am more nervous about getting there. It’s been two years since I’ve been home to London, and the same time since the funeral. I’ll go home and see all of Mom’s stuff gone, see her gravestone in person, and see my siblings. It will be very emotional. Plus I have my internship to tackle, but at least that will be in Toronto, two hours away from home. I always tend to pile a lot on my plate. But I can get it done, I’m sure. Besides, Mom would want me to be strong and succeed. She would be so happy for me, and proud.