Phobias. Are they real?

I’ve heard that some people are born with phobias. I am not one of these people. I do have three phobias of my own but they are fears that are directly attributed to a specific experience in my life. They are phobias that were not found in me prior to these experiences. They are real and they are beyond my control.

There are many phobias out there that I do not understand because I have not experienced them personally. I can empathize with people who do, however, as I know that there is a reason for their fear and that they cannot just ignore it.

I have met many people who are claustrophobic. They have the fear of being in a confined space. My wife has this fear. She will have panic attacks if she is in a small dark room or an overcrowded space for too long. I have never been claustrophobic but I do not doubt the deep fear that overcomes her in those situations.

Other phobias I have witnessed in others are mysophobia – the fear of germs, glossophobia – the fear of public speaking, monophobia – the fear of being alone, aquaphobia – the fear of water, coulrophobia – the fear of clowns, and many more. Some phobias seem very silly to those who do not suffer from them. Like samhainophobia – the fear of Halloween, which is kind of an oxymoron, in my opinion.

My three phobias are arachophobia – the fear of spiders, acrophobia – the fear of heights, and trypanophobia – the fear of needles. Let me explain now how I acquired these fears.

My first phobia that plagued me is tryanophobia. This fear entered my life in 1974. I was 5 years old living in Pocatello, Idaho. My younger brother, Michael, was wanting me to play with him but I was busy working on my “homeschool” activity that my mom had assigned me. I was cutting out Fat Albert characters doing different activities that I had drawn. I was working intently and was proud of my work. I didn’t have time to play at that moment and I was getting frustrated that my brother wouldn’t leave me be. Michael was also getting frustrated because he was 3 years old and had a one track mind.

After asking him to leave me alone and eventually even pushing him away, he did. I don’t know where he went and I lost myself in my work again. Suddenly out of nowhere I felt a sharp pain in my leg. In horror I looked at my brother who was grinning as he held the butt end of a pair of scissors in his right hand. The blade of the scissors was buried in my thigh, just above the knee. It began to gush blood all over where I was sitting.

I screamed and my mom came running from the next room. Michael released his grip on the scissors and they remained stuck in my leg. She removed the scissors and placed her hand on the wound. She picked me up and took me into the bathroom. Using a towel she wrapped up my leg and took me out to the car. She said I needed stitches and we were going to the hospital.

At the hospital we were taken back into an examination room. Mom lifted me up and set me down on the long chair with the thin paper covering it. The doctor said he needed to numb the area so that he could stitch the wound without inflicting any additional pain.

I’d always been okay with needles and doctors. I would sit quietly and receive my shots. I wouldn’t say I liked it and I don’t think that anyone does, but I could at least take it without any issues.

The doctor wiped my wound with some iodine to clean the area. Then I watched him fill the syringe with the lidocaine. He made sure all the air was out of the tube and flicked it with his finger. He told me there would be a little pinch. The next thing I remember the pinch became an intense burning pain throughout my body. The needle had gone too deep. It must’ve hit a nerve and my leg kicked up involuntarily. I could feel the needle, still in my leg, as scraped against my femur bone. I screamed in pain and tried to get away from the chair. The doctor was quick and was able to hold me in place. He apologized but said he still had to finish numbing my leg and stitching the wound. I tried to fight but a nurse and my mom held me down as the doctor finished his work. He eventually finished and we were able to return home.

It’s been 43 years and I can still feel the needle scraping my bone whenever I think of it or if I have to get another shot. I get worked up and full of anxiety whenever I have blood drawn or receive injections of any kind. This is why I have avoided going to the doctor for many things that probably could have used professional medical care.

I once went in to receive my immunizations required before attending my high school in Homer, Alaska. My stepmother, Becky, decided it would be wise to have my younger siblings, ages 2 and 4, receive their shots at the same time. She told them to “watch big brother, he’ll show you how easy it is”. Big mistake. I told her that she did not want them in the same room as me because I didn’t know how I would react. Watching me just scared the kids.

I had to give blood as part of a life insurance policy requirement. The lab technician came over to our house to draw blood from both my wife and me. As she worked on my wife she asked her, "Is he okay?" She must've noticed that I was pacing back and forth and breathing erratically. 

I’ve never had a bad experience since that time I was 5 years old getting stitches. Then again, I’ve never had stitches again. My wife asked me to get a vasectomy. Once. That conversation ended quickly, although she continues to rib me about what a wimp I am.

My next phobia that entered my life is my fear of spiders. This phobia is a little different than what others experience around spiders. I can be ok around spiders if I see them first and they are a good distance away. I do not like when I am startled by them creeping across the ceiling over my bed or especially when I feel one actually crawling on me. Yuck!

The funny part of this story is that as a kid I spent most of my free time playing with anything that had six or eight legs. I would catch them and place them in jars. I loved watching two different bugs fight each other. My favorite pairing was the praying mantis versus and spider I could catch. This included wolf spiders, hobos, brown recluses, garden spiders, cat’s eye spiders, and the dreaded black widows. I think my mom was afraid to even enter my room at the thought that one of my captives might have escaped their jar.

One afternoon I was attempting to corral a big fat black widow into a quart-sized jar next to the building behind our home. Using the jar’s lid I tried to coax him into the jar, which I was holding in my other hand. I almost had him inside the opening when the spider grabbed the outer edge and flipped itself onto the base of my thumb. Before I could even react, I felt a slight prick on my hand. I flicked my hand and the spider landed on the side of the building. I kicked up my foot and smashed the spider on the wall. I slid my foot down scraping the spider along the wall and watched a trail of blood and guts form behind.

I looked at my hand and figured nothing was wrong. There was a small red mark where I’d been bitten. I wandered around the back yard for a few minutes looking for something else to catch. After about 20 or 30 minutes my hand began to ache. Slowly the pain moved up my arm and into my shoulder. I began to get sweaty. I wasn’t feeling well at all. I walked into my house and downstairs to my bedroom. I climbed up onto the top bunk and laid down and started to cry. The pain was working its way into my entire body. About an hour later I was experiencing the worst pain of my life. It felt like I was dying. Every muscle hurt tremendously. My chest was convulsing and my heart raced.

My mom came down sometime later and saw me and asked if I was okay. I said that I was feeling sick and wanted to rest. I never told my parents what happened. I didn’t want to get into trouble for playing with spiders again. For a couple of days I was sick in my bed. Knowing what I know now about black widows, I would have begged to go to the doctor’s office, but my fear of doctor’s may have kept me home anyways. 

Since that day I cannot bring myself to get too close to any arachnid. The thought of experiencing that pain again is always at the top of my thoughts. I actually winced when the spider bit young Peter Parker on the hand in Spiderman. I couldn't watch the movie Arachnophobia. I even screamed and jumped on a dresser during my first week of marriage. My wife had to kill the little creeper on the floor. 

My third phobia is attributed once again to my little brother, Michael. My brother and I did everything together. We played football, hot wheels, games, teased our sisters, and more. We also liked to climb trees.

One summer when I was ten years old, we were camping up at Irish Flats campground at Arrowrock Reservoir. Michael and I decided to climb one of the tall pine trees. Dad was getting dinner ready so we had plenty of time to see how high we could go. I went up first and my 8 year old brother was close behind me.

I remember hearing my dad holler up at us from the ground to not get the sap all over us. It was too late for that. My hands were covered in it! We continued to ascend until I reached a point that I was nervous that the tree was getting a little too thin to support my weight. I looked out over the reservoir and watched the boats and skiers enjoying the hot August sun. While staring out at the beautiful views I noticed I was beginning to sway back and forth on the tree. I was startled and it dawned on me that there wasn’t even the slightest breeze that day. What was causing me to sway?

The swaying was happening faster and harder. I clutched onto the tree with all the strength of my young hands. I could hear Michael laughing and enjoying the scary swaying of the tree. I looked down at him and realized it was he who causing us to sway! He was gripping the tree and pushing and pulling as hard as he could. I couldn’t believe how movement he was able to create. Harder and harder he went and I swayed further and further back and forth. My hand were getting sore from gripping so hard. I began to think of the tree breaking and the thought of flinging my little body down to the campsite was too much. I screamed and cried uncontrollably. I remember hearing my dad yelling at Michael to stop but it seemed to never end.

My legs latched around the tree and my feet clasped to keep my lower body from flinging off. I remember thinking that this was the end. Either the tree or my grip would break. At some point the swaying had stopped but I didn’t notice. I was still gripping that tree with everything that I had. I opened my eyes and looked below. My brother was laughing still as he descended down the tree. I saw my dad on the ground. He was trying to talk me down. I remember how my hands and arms hurt from being engaged in survival mode for so long. Slowly and carefully I climbed back down.

I have never been the same since that day. I seem to face this fear of heights more than any other. At times it is a barrier that I cannot pass as if it were a brick wall. It has caused some humor amongst my family, especially my wife. She loves to watch me on a Ferris Wheel or at the top of the Space Needle in Seattle. I usually like to make her laugh, but not when I am petrified with fear.

Spiders, needles and heights. Those are my fears and they are real to me. I wasn’t born with them, which means that maybe someday I can overcome them. However, those childhood memories are etched deep and may remain throughout my life. I can live with them. They help me to understand others in their fears. The fear in my life gives me empathy towards people. I view that as a gift. A gift that has created many friends throughout my life. Friends that will always be there when I am afraid. Just like my wife was there for me so I could climb off the dresser.