I ran head first into another irrational fear. This one is all natural as well. Begs the questions. Why are we so afraid of nature? I think the answer may actually be simple. We can not control it!
The storm last night was fierce. The wind howled and the lights were great. I felt like the paparazzi were on my case every time I went to a window to shut it. I think through my internal panic I closed every window a little at a time. I am sure that this was because I was too afraid to stand in from of one window for to long. I had a little bit of difficulty closing the blinds in the twins room. I pulled the release string so hard that the entire blind fell and I was completely exposed. Periodically I would check in on Facebook to see what the world was talking about, the storm was center news. It seemed like everyone was so excited about the storm, posting pictures of great lightning strikes and videos of screaming winds and rain. I felt so alone in my fear. It wasn’t until I thought a little bit harder about the fear and how it made me feel that I thought that maybe the people that shared my fear were unplugged for the time being.
I felt it was silly of me to just want to crawl in a dark hole and hide out. Then I sent my mind to the past. My mother would lay behind the couch that was in the center of the living room, or just bury herself in her blankets on her bed. No tv’s were aloud on and she wouldn’t even use the phone. Total silence during the storm was mandatory because “noise attracts lightning”. I can vaguely remember a cousin or two that would cover mirrors with blankets for. I can also remember, although vague as well, my grandmother sitting on the porch on our dead end street, drinking a beer and watching the storm roll by. I wish I had that courage. I also have a foggy memory of my father, perhaps, taking a shower during a brutal storm and that seeming okay.
I am a work in progress, I will conquer these fears of things that I can not control. I plan on desensitizing myself as soon as possible. FreeStormApp