Cupping my hands around my eyes, I tried to see my sister, cousin, uncle, and aunt nearly two hundred feet above me. Even with my shoes planted on the ground, I felt my stomach clinch as though I too dangled above the ground waiting for the free fall. It happened in less than ten seconds. Someone over a speaker began a count down, but before she could reach eight, a mechanism released and the passengers plummeted down. There were screams and whoops of joy, a piston hiss of wind, then it stopped. Everyone disembarked.
It was the first summer acrophobia was open at Six Flags, the first summer I wasn’t too short to ride the rollercoasters. But I didn’t. I kept my feet on the ground.
I don’t know when I began to fear heights.
My earliest memory is climbing from a second floor balcony onto a stairwell, and down to the ground floor. I pushed the little tyke slide to the railing and kicked my legs over. There was a playground with sand and a sea-saw around the corner from our apartment building. When I got there, I sat on the sea-saw pushing myself from the earth, trying to will my four-year-old legs to have the power to defy gravity before falling back down.
Falling in dreams is interpreted as a fear of losing control or a sense of powerlessness.
I dream of trying to fly like my four-year-old self, always pushing away from the earth I know I am destined to fall back down to. Dreaming of flight is about escape, but my pragmatic mind, even in dream, knows it is time to keep my feet on the ground.
9/11 lingers in my mind when I am too far above street level, looking down on a world made miniature by distance. I remember the falling man, his body posed like Superman,his pinstriped pants, his unknowable face. That image is an accident, the unlikely alignment of his body and the infinitesimal click of a camera shutter. In reality when he fell, he could not control what was happening. He only had the choice to jump.
Part of my fear of heights is the sense that what lies below my feet isn’t solid enough. It is not enough to not look down. I have to convince my brain that what I’m stepping on can hold my weight.
I wrote a haiku about my fear of climbing Amicalola Falls on a 4×6 index card. Somewhere in a box dusted with spider webs, it’s bookmarking my favorite spot.
A fear of heights is just as much a fear of falling, just as much a fear of losing control.
I hate Fifty Shades of Grey. For its bad writing and showing a white man abusing a woman with zero consequences.
I took twenty minutes looking for a soy wax candle in Tokyo Valentino at midnight. I tried to explain sensation play. Carefully controlling stimuli. Warm wax. Cold ice. Testing the sensitivity of skin. Lesser known erogenous zones. But Christian Grey and his stupid red room ruined the conversation.
I told him he was unromantic and emotionally cold. He told me I had trust issues.
Taurean women are said to be the most deeply devoted and loving, but easily prone to jealousy and sensitive.
When jumping rope, the girls would rock back and forth, waiting for the right moment for the rope to arch overhead before jumping in. It took me awhile to accept that sometimes, you will get hit by the rope, and that’s ok.