when you encounter something of which you have a phobia, even if it is unlikely you will get hurt. Case in point:
My baby book states that even at a few months old, I screamed whenever storms came through. I have had a fear of thunder and lightning as long as I can remember, to the point where I have actually wonder if I experienced bombing in a past life. That's what it feels like, like death is raining from the sky, bursting in flashes of light and crashing noise. I even dove under a table once, as a teenager, while company was over when a bolt hit nearby.
Nineteen years ago, during my honeymoon, I was attending a Pagan gathering outside of Atlanta when a huge front of storms came through. To give you an idea, it was midsummer, the temperature prior to the storm was in the 90s--the next day it was in the 50s. Several of us were camped together with a tarpaulin over the common area, put up with wooden poles. There was one extra pole, a metal one, on the ground. When the rain came down in sheets we each manned a pole and dipped the tarp to keep it from collapsing. At one point lightning hit down in the valley below us, knocking people off their feet. A bit of the bolt hit our camp--the others felt the shock through the wooden poles. But I didn't feel anything, because at that point I was in the foetal position in a puddle of rainwater. I'd held up really well up to then, but that thunderclap and flash, simultaneous with one another, sent me down to the ground. Afterwards, when the others were checking out other campers (tents had been rolling down the hill, etc.), I stood there with my pole, clutching it for dear life, and every now and then one of my companions would come over and check on me.
But over the years, I thought the phobia had ebbed. I'd forced myself to be calm during storms, and I even learnt to enjoy them (so long as the thunder was fairly far away). As it got closer, my heart beat a little faster, but I was still okay.
But that was inside.
Today a storm came up just as I was leaving the hospital. I had to go out to catch the bus; it was the only way to get to work on time at the store. The rain was coming down in sheets, and thunder came from every direction. All the fear came back in a moment, and I started crying, wondering if I should have called work to see if someone could have gotten me or if they could wait for me to get there. But I persevered. I got to the bus stop (incidentally, under a tall metal light pole) and waited. A lightning bolt hit somewhere across the road at the golf course; the thunderclap was instantaneous, and it took every bit of courage I had to not run back up that hill to the hospital and to hell with the bus.
After that, things calmed down a bit, and so did I. By the time the bus arrived, it actually was just a gentle rain. By the time I got off the bus again, it was only sprinkling, as it had passed the store as well. My clothes were soaked, especially my sandals, and my feet were brown where the material touched them. My work shirt was wet inside the canvas bag I'd carried as well. But I was safe, and that was all that mattered.
I'm still embarrassed that I cried because it was storming. I think the woman across from me on the bus could tell I had been; she looked at me very oddly. And I hate that I still have that fear that comes crashing back all at once after all these years. True, I weathered it. And it's not entirely irrational; I could have been struck by lightning, even though it is so very rare. But I still feel like I failed somewhere and wonder at those who can listen to thunderstorms and find them relaxing.
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