Things That Make Me Anxious – Babies, Skydiving, and Things Without Skin
I’ve decided to start a new section of this blog dedicated to my favorite mental affliction: anxiety. (I hope you all picked up on the sarcasm there.) It seems like every day, I uncover some new image or idea that makes my stomach shrivel into a raisin, and what better way to get over a problem than to acknowledge its existence? Every Friday or so, I’ll try to write a mini-post with 2 or 3 things that make me anxious and an explanation as to why. And that’s exactly what I’ll call it, “Things That Make Me Anxious,” because none of the days of the week start with “A” so I can’t create some clever alliterative combination like “Anxiety ___Day.” If anyone has a suggestion for the column title, I’ll all ears.
So, without further adieu…
– Holding babies
When someone hands you a baby, what they are really doing is handing you a fraction of their soul that they spent 9+ months nurturing to health and asking you not to break it. That’s a lot of pressure to put a person under. What if instead of a nervous laughter, I have a nervous body spasm? What if my arms suddenly stopped working and the child dropped to the floor, causing instant death? You might think I’m overreacting but holding a baby is like holding a defenseless soul that could disappear at any second. If you move your arm the wrong way, their head might bend back, breaking their spine. You could trip on your way to an armchair and squish the little bugger like…well, a bug. The parents would never forgive you for that, you would never forgive you for that, and the Karma Gods certainly wouldn’t let you get away with killing a child without consequence. Never hand me a baby, please.
– Visions of myself skydiving
Planes are stressful enough. They are giant, pressurized buses flying through the air hundreds of miles above sea level. I’ve seen Final Destination enough to know how quickly a plane can blow up mid-air. With that in mind, why would I ever choose to skydive? I wouldn’t. That’s your answer. But that doesn’t stop my brain from conceptualizing the experience against my will. I still see my feet dangling over the edge of an open airplane door, tickling the clouds with my toes, and preparing to leap. I still imagine my parachute not opening and me falling to my doom.
– Pictures of humans without skin
In science class once, we looked at a replica of a human arm without skin to study the form of the muscles and veins. Ever since then, I’ve been cursed with mental images of skinless humans, walking around like bad Sci-Fi movie monsters. It certainly doesn’t help with stage fright either. Imagine everyone naked? No, that vision is long gone, replaced by images of human-shaped meat slabs covered in little blue veins.