In all of my musings about Camp McDowell
We covered that I’m not the
greatest swimmer. (I do love the water though, I’m just more of a lazy
river/"let’s float this one out with a cocktail" kind of gal.) Well, I also happen to have a
little trouble with heights. I think it began when I broke both of my arms
falling out of a tree house, but with the anxiety in this brain of mine, it’s
entirely possible the phobia would have come about regardless.
(Technically speaking, I think I have what is known as
obsessive bad thoughts rather than a phobia. I can be in high spaces – I didn’t
miss out on the top of the Hancock building when I spent the summer in Chicago,
but all I think about when I’m too far off the ground is falling. It’s pretty
much the only notion/image that runs through my head once I’m more than 10 feet
off the ground. Once I saw Clueless, even the third floor of the mall could
make me a little sick to my stomach. Am I the only person in
But, you know, I’ve done a lot of work to understand myself better in the past few months. I turned 30. I have a prescription for Xanax. Surely, I thought, I can handle the high dive now.
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