The anatomy of phobias.

The learning theory states that phobias become ingrained due to conditioning experiences, you know, like Pavlov’s dog. A bell was rung and the dog was given food. The dog associated the bell with food. This was continually reinforced, till the dog began to anticipate the food. Each time the bell rang, the dog began to salivate. It learnt the association. This is one of the myriad of theories that tries to explain how we develop phobias. A case in point...I am scared of spiders. When I was about 19, a spider put its little spidery leg in my mouth as I slept. It took a few seconds for me to wake up, but I never forgot the absolute horror I felt at almost swallowing a stupid spider. Oh, it wasn’t a daddy-long legs, it was one those more robust beasts, slightly hairy too. An association started to form, and what followed was a state of research...I googled all circumstances in which spiders had killed people. I re-watched arachnophobia, and then I became hyper-vigilant. I would spot spiders that were running away from me, trying to hide. I would chase them down into dark tunnels and deserted rooms, just so I could point out the spider. And then I would be scared. I would return to hiding, shaking in a corner, because I had spotted a spider. I graduated from this ‘vigilante’ state to an avoidance state. So if I had spotted a spider somewhere innocuous at any point in the past, it would be an excuse not to go to that place. I would avoid rooms in the house, certain shoes that looked like they could hide spiders (don’t ask me what that looks like; you’ll know it when you see it) and generally putting my feet on the floor. My simple fear was starting to resemble a phobia. It’s better now, though I still occasionally conjure up spidery images...and scare myself silly though there’s nothing there.

The whole point of this pre-amble is that I started to think that perhaps there are some phobias that we need to learn, for example, the phobia of the arsehole. That guy or girl that uses you for even less than your worth, and then tosses you away like a bit of 1 ply toilet paper, not even recyclable. You need to make a point to remember these people, to research their characters and whatever the hell it is that attracts you to that damage and then become hyper-vigilant, looking for said associations (character and behaviour). Then you need to develop the old avoidance techniques. Run like the plague is chasing you after lopping off Bolt’s pins and attaching them to its own body. Run very very very fast in the opposite compass direction. Keep running till the person is now a dot behind you, and then run some more.

If it works, you’ll become phobic of rubbish, and might spare yourself quite a lot of nonsense. I’ll let you know how it works for me. At first glance though, I feel its failsafe. In fact, I feel I might be able to extrapolate this to my fear of Facebook, limited intelligence, rubbish jobs etc. I am getting really excited about the prospects now...

In other news, I’ll be home in like 5 days. There is a God after all.

Life is too damn short.

What in this world can prepare you for death? I mean, what difference would it make if someone told you that you would die in the next 45 minutes?

It’s September 11^th, a day that holds a lot of memories, most of them traumatic, for a great deal of people. 10 years ago, tragedy hit New York and suddenly, people questioned the value of human life, questioned each other’s belief in the sanctity of breath, and became doubtful of anyone that bore any slight difference to themselves. A decade later, and here we are, with people in worlds far afield, still paying the price for an intangible immeasurable threat, a testament to the greatest loss of all, a tolerant society and the value of human life. But that’s a rant for another day.

Today I’m sad because someone close to me died. It’s all fuckery when someone tells you that you’ll have time to prepare for death. Hell, it’s all fuckery when I say it to my patients that are facing the end of their lives. Do I believe it? Well I’ve known my cousin was dying for 3 years, and yet every time I saw her, she looked better than the last. So I never once said goodbye, never acknowledged that I might be away and she might die, and I might never hold her once more. The warning was there, and yet, it’s not natural to prepare to deal with loss.

My mum said her kids seem to be doing fine. But she’s from a stoic generation, where emotions had their place, which was most definitely not public. I don’t know how they feel, but given that I had a much better understanding of her illness (from an emotionally detached place) and yet could not feel prepared and don’t feel fine, I’m inclined to think that is not the case.

Nothing prepares you for death. Even watching someone dying, over weeks and months, nothing prepares you for that moment of loss. Nothing prepares you for the fact that you will cry in the middle of the street when a memory comes back to you. Nothing prepares you to face not saying goodbye. Nothing. 

R.I.P. R.

365 days....minus 7

One of my biggest fears is looking back on any period of time and realising that I did nothing. This is the reason I hate being hangover, wake up at 5am, read on trains and often have lunch while at my desk. Life rushes past all of us, and we all try to stop and smell the roses blah blah, but sometimes, I think that’s just an excuse for laziness extraordinaire. The greatest link to memory is the sense of smell, which suggests that the rosy scent won’t be forgotten any time soon, ergo, no need for constant stopping and smelling.

Either way, it was my birthday last week. I woke up with the dreaded ‘what the hell will I wear’ thought. You know, the perfect outfit that says ‘year older, but still effortlessly cool’. Then I was gripped with fear that there would be a lot of time in the last year that would remain unaccounted. So I did what I do best, I made a list on the train to work:

I got me a job, so I can say on the train to work. This whole post hinged on that line (well not really, but for theatrics’ sake, we’ll pretend it did).

I learnt how to cook a good paella, a new amazing risotto, la bandiera, rare steak, and developed an appreciation for black coffee.

I have read 13 books this year. Two about India, two about Nigeria, three about heart break and love, one about the human psyche, 2 classics, 1 about politics, 1 about economics, and the one that can only be classed as putting Danielle Steele raunch in a nunnery.

I made new friends. People that I would never have met, and yet add oodles to my life (I started saying oodles, and I will stop...all within the same 12 month period). I learnt that acquaintances are alright.

I lived through riots (really really tenuously kind of).

I became an aunt. Three times. Four in fact.

I had my heart sort of broken, and put back together before it hit the ground. I’m in limbo, but it’s currently a really good place to be.

I started a blog, which while not being particularly good, made me read other people’s blogs, and that my friends, has been fantastic.

I learnt to smile, not because I had a reason to, but because once I did, the reason showed itself.

You make of life what you want it to be. I learnt to believe in the veracity of that statement, and I am so much better and wiser for it.