I'm terrified of heights. I'm not just afraid of falling but of being far away from the ground. I become disoriented and panic with a definite sensation of falling even though I'm not actually falling. Like when you dream you're falling and grab for the bed, which of course is solidly underneath your body. I'm certifiably acrophobic.
If I had a physical reaction to spiders -- not just the heaving shudders or feeling like things are crawling on me -- it would make me arachnophobic. Fear of water, fear of strangers, fear of enclosed spaces...you name it, there's a phobia for it.
Lucy: "Maybe you have pantophobia, Charlie Brown."
Charlie Brown: "What's pantophobia?"
Lucy: "The fear of everything."
Charlie Brown: "THAT'S IT!!!"
Larry has an aversion to English peas, tomatoes and some other squishy foods. When he was a tiny boy, he gagged violently at certain smells, sights and touches. In preschool, he didn't want to fingerpaint or make plaster of Paris handprints. He's 11 now and still has no interest in touch tanks or other hands-on experiences. He is just now learning to pat dogs and cats comfortably.
According to some literature, that gives him "tactile issues." I throw that around when it suits me, but the fact is, he just doesn't like squishy or wriggly things. Not foods, not paints, not pets, not sea creatures. If I asked him to pick up the dog's poop, I'd be hosing throw-up out of the yard, too.
When I worked at a newspaper, the editorial staff privately called a fine selection of our local loonies the "C----- Crazies" and kept ourselves and each other abreast of their doings. There was Mary the Bicycle Lady, Boomer the Sports Nut and the guy who talked to, listened to and tried to hide behind street signs, among others. At our first home, a shell-shocked WWII veteran named George frequently left dollar bills in our screen door for reasons known only to him.
No doubt, some of these folks have conditions frequently documented and discussed in numerous medical journals and conferences. Perhaps they are under a doctor's care. Someone who came home "shell-shocked" 50 years ago would now be diagnosed with "Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder" and appropriately counseled, medicated and relieved of jury duty.
Years ago people had all the same disorders they have now. They were eccentric rather than diseased back then.
Sister Martha took to the couch at 40 with the vapors. Miss Grumblypants down the street snipped the head off any day lily that wasn't absolutely perfect. Can't Get Right could count tiller's trays at the general store to the penny at a glance. Poor Luther couldn't get out of bed for months after his wife Mona died. Little Charlie-Boy screamed until he fainted if locked in the closet when he was bad.
Early menopause, obsessive-compulsive disorder, autism, depression, claustrophobia. See?
Ahhh, cynicism. Frustrated idealism. Sounds like a disorder to me.
