This post is so random…so excuse my ranting.
I have globophobia, which is an irrational fear of balloons. I’m not ashamed of it, it’s just something that’s a part of me. And I wouldn’t mind telling people, if they didn’t look at me as if I’ve sprouted antennae right after I tell them. Oh, and by “people”, I mean “desis.” Sadly, I don’t really think that the majority of people back home understand phobias. Every time it does happen to crop up, they’ll kind of stare at me as if I’m stupid or as if they’re waiting for me to take back what I said. My own parents won’t admit I have globophobia! Forget getting aquaintances and aunties to understand.
So – what is it exactly? I forgot who – but someone – asked me recently if I imagine the balloons attacking me or turning into monsters or something. I thought that was pretty hilarious 😀 No. That is most certainly not the case. I’m not a three year old 😛 I’m a healthy, (fairly) normal 24 year old woman. Globophobia – for me – isn’t the actual fear of the balloon, it’s the anticipation of it popping. Hence, the bigger and shinier they are, the more nervous I am. And, what gets even weirder is that I’m not afraid of the popping. I like it when they pop. Because then they are gone. Good riddance.
I hate it. I’d like to tell my parents – and all those desis and everyone else who looks at me strange when I mention it – trust me, if I had a choice, I wouldn’t be globophobic.
I think it took root at my first birthday party – kids kept coming in my face and popping balloons. Childhood trauma 😦
Now, any time I go to a party, the entire ride, my palms are sweating (literally), my heart is palpating and I’m on the verge of a panic attack. It’s quite horrible. I hate it. I’m gripped with this terror the whole time. It sounds ridiculous, perhaps, but there you have it. And the whole time, I’ll just be thinking about how I can leave early. Once there, I assess the situation quickly. I have to go through all these mental maneuvers and consolations to keep my heart from palpating, to keep my breathing even – “It’ll be over soon” – “Look, dessert! Ooh, cheesecake!” – “Don’t look that way – this side of the room doesn’t have any” – “It’s ok, just send the kids to their dad if they want balloons.”
There you have it. I admitted it to the world (or anyone willing to read through all of this waffle).
I have an irrational fear of balloons. And to anyone who thinks it’s stupid or doesn’t make sense — I. Don’t. Care.