lauantai 31. maaliskuuta 2012

My life as an acrophobic


Imagine that you’re crossing a bridge. When you get almost to the middle of the bridge, you realize the bridge trembles every time a car crosses it. Also imagine that the bridge is located in the middle of a city, and cars cross it every two seconds. Finally imagine that the part of the bridge the cars use is metal net, and the river below – far, far below – is fully visible. 

You already understand what I’m talking about, don’t you? Well, I survived the crossing and all was well.
Fast forward three hours. We’re walking back from Burger King, and all of a sudden, I see the bridge looming in front of me. And suddenly I realize something I (thankfully) didn’t understand before: I would have to cross the bridge again.

I hurried forward to keep the others from seeing my face. My thumbnails dug firmly to my index fingers. I focused my gaze to the hotel in the other side, so very far on the other side. I tried to focus my mind only for the current step, repeatedly counting to one.

One. One. One. One. One. One. One.

By the time I was reaching the middle point, I was gasping for air through my mouth. (Bad move.) Then a car apparently sped past, sending violent shudders resonating through the bridge. My teeth snapped together digging a hole to my cheek in the process. I guess the pain and taste of blood were the only things keeping me from screaming out loud. Still, I sobbed violently every step from there on. I was absolutely sure that the next moment the bridge would crumble and I would fall to the river below. Every step I died a little.
After infinity, or several infinities, I reached the other side, hobbled to the guardrail, and sat down. By the time my friends reached me, I had recovered enough to look somewhat normal.

For all of you, who laughed while you were reading this… I hope you die slowly, painfully and alone.

The normal happy-go-lucky writing will resume tonight, or tomorrow morning at latest.

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