Would you really want to know?

I smashed my knee in a hard tackle over two weeks ago. I was on crutches for over a week and couldn't drive for nearly two weeks. For me, the main thing is I won the tackle and consequently, my team won the game.

A fracture has been ruled out but with continuing pain, I went to see my physio. He has been a physio for the Australian Olympic and Commonwealth Games teams so I trust him implicitly. He also mistook me for my mum a few months ago. Last time he saw my mum, she was around my age so that's how long he's been tending to the muscles and joints of my family.

Well I saw my physio today and I explained my injury. He asked some questions, as they do and I mentioned that while my knee is sore and has been slow to improve, my foot on the same limb has been really cold. I told him it actually turned purple on the first night after the injury occurred. He seemed a bit taken aback by that and reached down to touch my feet. I was telling him about this as I was taking my Converse sneakers off - that's what reminded me to mention my foot. He pulled back. I assumed they didn't feel any different as both feet had literally just come out of shoes. He told me my right foot was definitely much more cold than the other foot. But he offered no explanation.

As I was lying on the table and my physio was massaging my leg, I asked if he had any theories as to why my foot would be so damn cold. I asked because at the time, my right foot was so cold that it was hurting. He seemed reluctant to answer and started talking about  my sympathetic nervous system. None of this made much sense to me.

Suddenly I thought I was cottoning on to what he was saying and my heart sank like a stone. "Are you telling me this is all in my head?" He insisted he wasn't and upon deciding he hadn't convinced me he told me he thinks it is "Complex regional pain syndrome". He provided a brief explanation about nerves and laughed when he told me it is very rare and he said as soon as he thought of it and how rare it was, he thought if someone was going to have this syndrome, it would be me. Thanks(!).

But then my physio did something I didn't expect. He explicitly stated that I was not to google it. He repeated his direction many times, insisting reading about CRPS would scare me. He told me I could tell my medical profession based friend about it because she wasn't aware of any possible cause but I absolutely was not to google it myself. But his explanation did not offer my any real reason why my foot is cold. And he told me that if I read about it I would become worried. Worried about what?

So what would you do?

...

Have a think about it.

...

Put yourself in my position.

...

Decided what you would do yet?

...

I think I did what most everyone would do. I burned the words into my mind and googled the heck out of the condition the second I sat in the car.

Chronic regional pain syndrome

It's not good. Nothing about what I've read is good. The article opened with "...is a chronic progressive disease characterized by severe pain, swelling and changes in the skin." and didn't get much better from there. I'd be lying if I said I didn't cry and then drive home like a zombie. Obviously I haven't been formally diagnosed and even if I do have the disease, there is a small chance the syndrome can cease it's progression and go into remission. But since as I type this, my right foot is again so cold it's hurting, I'm still afraid.

But what would you do? Would you really want to know?

Miss SAMawdsley xx

Questions

• What would you do in my position?
• How and how long would it take for you to make your decision?
• Have you ever been in the position to decide if you wanted to know something bad?
• What did you do?

#IDidNotReport

~ Samantha Mawdsley, 2008

Hot breath leers at my neck

I blink my eyes

The darkness is thick from my slumber

I should be safe in my bed

Am I still asleep?

Am I dreaming?

His eyes swim in the darkness

they drink me in

In the moment I see that hungry look

too many unwanted touches…

I am remembering

I am repulsed

I don’t understand

why this man is standing over me

And yet my innocence knows

exactly what brought him here

But he is family

You trust family

His own family, his stepdaughter

lies sleeping beside me

All I can think is please not her

don’t let her see

or understand

or sympathise…

He tells me he couldn’t sleep

He needs me

I watch his face contort and relax

He asks me to kiss him

I repress

I forget

I don’t want to remember that Christmas…

I used to have nightmares when I was a child

And there was a monster

I woke up…

I lived a nightmare when I was seventeen

I woke up

And there was a monster

I copied and pasted that from my DeviantArt account. I don't want to reread it. I don't want to go back to that place. But that is the starting point for my story.

Today on Twitter I came across a hashtag, #IDidNotReport & people were detailing why they did not report being the victim of sexual violence or abuse. It began because of a poor attitude to rape. A player on a team might say "Man, we raped the opposition Friday night." This is casual. So when a girl is actually raped on Saturday night, no big deal. I know this is a very extreme view, but forgive, I was knocked unconscious in a football game last night & thinking too much hurts my head.

Many people believe sexual assault or violence is not that common. Because according to the statistics, it's not. But what #IDidNotReport actually shows is just how often victims do not report the crimes against them. I don't think I have an IRL girlfriend who does not have their own #IDidNotReport story.

@A_hectic_bloke #ididnotreport because he was ~respected~ in the ~scene~ and I didn't want to lose friends. Or upset his fiancée.

@Stubbornella #ididnotreport because I was too little to know I had any right to my own body... to say no.

@elmyra #ididnotreport the guy who groped me on the train home, aged 14. Thought I had to deal with it by myself.

@TheFatGirlGuide #ididnotreport because ppl think because you're plus size, you should take what you get.

@Princess_Sassy #IDidNotReport but told my family what my "uncle" tried to do. Nobody in the family talks to me anymore even though every girl said 'me too'

You get the idea. And yes, the last one is me. So why didn't I report it? I'm comfortable enough in myself to talk about many things - my mental illnesses, my experience with domestic violence, my phobias & I'm even brave enough to post near naked photos in the interests of loving your body. Well I did tell somebody. I told my mum. The "uncle" & his family wouldn't have been at the end of our street before I was running into my mum, calm tears pouring down my cheeks, telling her what happened. This was two days after the event. I was eighteen. They were staying with us for Christmas.

Why didn't I run straight into my mum's bedroom after it happened? Better yet, why didn't I scream when he tried? I didn't want to wake my cousin, his stepdaughter, who was asleep beside me. I didn't want to cause a giant fight with my uncles and aunty's, cousins and my grandmother. I waited until everybody left - two whole days of playing happy families - before I admitted what happened. I thought of everyone but myself.

I have two female cousins on that side of my family. One of them admitted straight away he had tried it with her too. The other, his stepdaughter, kept quiet for a few weeks. Then one day when her mum dropped her off at school, she turned around and ran back to the car. Wordlessly she shoved a note at her before running away. She was also a victim but she had to live with him.

My brother wasn't told. I just asked my father if I told him or not. Apparently my brother told him - many years later when he found out. Mum said she would handle it. That involved not telling my brother or father because truth be told, they very well may have killed him. I just apologised to my father for not telling him.

I don't talk to that side of the family. I was asked to please be civil and go to my real uncle's birthday party even though he would be there. They tried to coax me, admitting it was a surprise wedding. I still refused. So my "uncle" went. I did not. I cannot keep the peace, I just can't. I demand to be treated with more respect than that and they didn't like it. I am a pleasant and amicable person but people do not like those rare days when I grow a back bone.

I have cousins and young friends who may be reading this. And I hope they are. I want them to know my advice - talk to me. Talk to someone. Do NOT suffer in silence. Do NOT put yourself through anything to protect somebody who would hurt you. There is NO reason you should feel you should be silenced. Talk about it. And do NOT, and I can't stress this enough, DO NOT be ashamed.

MY UNCLE TRIED TO MOLEST ME!!!!!

But sadly, and as much as I wish I had, #IDidNotReport

Miss SAMawdsley xx

I reject your reality & substitute my own!

Click here to pledge your support too!
It doesn't cost money, just click & read.

My psychiatrist told me I have Borderline Personality Disorder. I rejected his diagnosis. Because that's how it works, right?

"Mrs Jones, I'm afraid you have cancer."

"No I don't. I am sick of young whippersnappers like you telling me what I do and do not have! Now give me a prescription for Endone and I'll be on my way!"

Is Mrs Jones' cancer like Schrodinger's cat? Unless she looks she neither has, nor does not have, cancer, right? Because that's exactly how I feel about BPD. I neither have, nor do not have, BPD - unless I go back to my psychiatrist. And I haven't. It's been nearly a year. It was March last year.

"Borderline personality disorder (BPD) is a psychological condition marked by a prolonged disturbance of personality function, characterized by depth and variability of moods.

The disorder typically involves unusual levels of instability in mood and black-and-white thinking, or splitting. BPD often manifests itself in idealization and devaluation episodes and chaotic and unstable interpersonal relationships, self-image, identity, and behavior; as well as a disturbance in the individual's sense of self."

To be diagnosed as BPD, a patient needs to present with five out of these nine symptoms.

* frantic efforts to avoid feared abandonment

I will do anything to avoid being abandoned. I have broken up with boyfriends, purely so they couldn't break up with me. When people move away, as people tend to do throughout life, I take it so personally. To me, the fact of the matter is I am not worth enough to them for them to stay near to me. Whatever the reason for the move (work, family, relationships, etc.) it is simply more important to the person than I am. And that hurts so deeply.

* intensity and instability in relationships

* suicidal behaviour, or acts of self-harm

I cut myself throughout high school. I would carve a sparkly spiral on my wrist whenever I was sad. If that was already bloody and scabby, I would carve a star into my ankle. I planned to kill myself in 2005. My dad went to football on Monday nights. On the Sunday, I decided to wait until he went to football and then take every tablet I could find and lay down in bed. If I was still alive when Dad got home, he would just assume I was sleeping & leave me be & I'd be dead by the morning.

Last February I made an attempt. Late one night, I was so overwhelmed by everything that I got up from my bed & headed towards the kitchen of my shared unit for a big sharp knife. As I walked past my housemate's room, I felt a small voice creep up & I squeaked out his name. The sound of my voice, so pitiful, terrified me and I ran back into my room sobbing hysterically. My housemate came running into my room to find me begging him not to let me kill myself. He'd later tell me I had screamed his name & sounded terrified, not pitiful.
These days, I discovered I have physical urticaria. I can stratch myself, feel pain, see an angry red weal & know it will be gone by morning.

* an unstable self-image or sense of self

This is a huge one for me an I have trouble explaining it. I believe I am very different to other people. I don't understand the way other people's brains work and why they do what they do. I'm confused by basic human interactions and am always paranoid that I am doing it wrong. I feel like I wear myself as a costume that fools people but inside this costume is a weird alien who desperately pretends to be normal. It's really hard to describe...

* impulsive behaviour (eg. spending, substance use, reckless driving, sex, binge eating)

* emotional instability due to reactivity of mood

I am shocking with this. The smallest things affect my emotions and they do it in a huge way. A few careless words can send me deep into a spiral of sadness and paranoia. I analyse everything and come to conclusions that are usually painful to deal with and upsetting to me. I hate going to the grocery shops and will come home in a bad mood that I have been known to take out on people I love. Recently, I got insanely angry at my dog for not helping me carry my groceries into the house. Yeah, I know...

* chronic feelings of emptiness

This could be BPD and this could be thanatophobia / existential anxiety. Either way, I absolutely cannot fathom the point of life. I sit and ponder why... just, why...? I am the kind of person who needs goals. I am that donkey that will only walk if there is a carrot dangling right in front of me.

* intense, inappropriate or uncontrollable anger

In grade 10, a guy in manual arts was teasing me. The next thing I remember, my friend touched me on the shoulder. I had opened my tool cabinet, grabbed a chisel & was making my way towards him while the class looked shocked. I describe the part I don't remember as 'red'. It's like my memory was replaced by blindingly bright red. And getting angry at my dog for not bothering to help me carry groceries is not exactly appropriate, is it?

* paranoid thinking under stress or 'dissociative' symptoms

I play football. I'm pretty good. But I won't try to do anything - tricky passes that I am perfectly capable of doing or dribbling the ball up the field, taking on a player - because I am so paranoid the team will hate me if it goes wrong. Even though if they do the same, I'm OK & just yell out encouragement. Some players haven't come back this season. I am convinced it is my fault. I don't know why, I just am. They were there last season when they didn't know I had joined the team, but they won't come back this season.

If someone is upset - or I perceive they may be upset - I believe it's my fault. I usually can't think of a logical reason why it's my fault. And then I believe that it's because I'm so selfish and such a bad person that I didn't even notice what I did to upset them. It's exhausting being so paranoid.

And the dissociative symptoms? I have repressed so much of my life - moments I have been stressed, movie endings that have upset me, confrontational conversations... I just dissociate and somehow come out the other end alive.

It's still something I am considering - whether to accept this diagnosis or not. And in all honesty, this is the main reason I don't want to accept the diagnosis:

"Pejorative terms to describe persons with BPD such as “difficult,” “treatment resistant,” “manipulative,” “demanding” and “attention seeking" are often used."

Imagine a trained professional basically saying to you, "you are mentally ill. How do I know? Because you are difficult, manipulative, demanding and attention-seeking." It hurts. I'll tell you that. Luckily, the few people I have told this to have laughed. They say that if they were to describe me, they would never ever use any of those words. Except "attention-seeking". But they would use it in the "I like to be the centre of attention by being bright, bubbly and entertaining - not by faking drama or making stuff up to get attention. They understand that I am still 'me'. And if 'me' has BPD, so be it. They still love me for who I am, mental illnesses and all.

You may think I am being too open and revealing by writing this blog post. But I am me. If I wrote about the complications of pregnancy, that would be fine. If I wrote about having diabetes, that would be fine. If I wrote about actually being diagnosed with cancer, that would be fine. Obviously they would all be sad, but  in revealing my tragic medical history, I wouldn't be revealing too much. Well I have a mental illness. I have Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. I have thanatophobia / existential anxiety. I may have Borderline Personality Disorder. And if I do, that kind of sucks... but I refuse to be ashamed of it. Like the ad says, "I can treat my mental illness. I can't help how you treat me."

Miss SAMawdsley xx

Questions:

• Do you have a mental illness that you have kept hidden? Why?
• What is your opinion on being open about having a mental illness?
• Have you pledged to support a change in attitudes to mental illness? PLEDGE NOW

The Scream

Have you ever screamed out of sheer panic? Has terror ever gripped your heart so hard that every last breath in your body escapes your lips in an ear-splitting sound that just can’t be of this earth? There are two scenarios that cause me to emit that horrific noise. One is the Superman ride at Move World. When it throws you out of that tunnel, I just can’t help it. I can’t breathe but I can’t keep quiet either. But it’s a joyously nervous sound and even though I can’t talk for two or three days afterwards, I still love it. The other is out of cold-blooded fear and is during a panic attack.

Well, I guess I shouldn’t call it a panic attack because I’m not sure that is what it is – and nor is my psychologist. The weirdest thing about these episodes is I am asleep while they happen. Or normally I am until the sound wakes me up but sometimes it takes somebody else bursting into my room to snap me out of it. When I wake up the next morning I often can’t talk for a few days, such is the strain on my voice and the length and breadth of my scream.

I don’t remember what leads up to the screaming. If it’s a bad dream, I’ve never remembered it. The closest I’ve come to remembering anything is being aware of the realisation that I will die. I don’t remember thinking anything before that or even being awake to think. I’m not sure if it’s a dream or perhaps I am in a state of semi-sleep. Maybe I even think it while I’m screaming, I don’t know.

I’ve never met anyone who has experienced anything like this. Even the traditional panic attacks don’t often involve screaming. And I’ve never met anyone who has traditional panic attacks that involve screaming either, now that I think about it.

I used to have episodes that involved losing my faculties, screaming and hysterical crying. I’ve never admitted this but from about age 12 I slept on the floor of my dad’s room. (That took a lot to admit, please don’t judge me). I was tearing into my dad’s room so regularly screaming and terrified of imminent death that it just became easier to sleep in there. Perhaps it was the time we suspected I’d fractured my ankle jumping out of bed that triggered it, I can’t remember. Dad would sit up talking to me until all hours of the morning until I was so exhausted that I eventually fell asleep. I didn’t sleep in my own room until I was about 15 or 16. In fact, I don’t actually remember what my room looked like or what bed I had in my actual bedroom. Not before Dad built me an awesome bunk bed that we designed, anyway. My mattress was on my dad’s floor and I had my favourite possessions set up beside me. That was my life. It was embarrassing & I never admitted it to my friends. Well, until now I guess. In fact, I’m not 100% sure why I’m admitting it now…

Miss SAMawdsley xx

Questions:

• Have you ever experienced a panic attack?
• Have you ever screamed? Like, really screamed? Why?

Panic attacks & thanatophobia

Imagine you know for certain that tomorrow you will die. There is not a thing you can do about it, tomorrow will be your last day on earth and tonight will be your last night. How would you feel? I can’t imagine many people, if any, would answer with anything that isn't fear, frustration, anger, confusion or sheer panic. Well I don't know for sure that I will die tomorrow. But what I do know for sure is that there will come a night that will be my last. Following that last night will be my final day on earth. It may not be tomorrow, it may not be the next day. It may not even be for the next 50 years, I don't know. But it will come.

I guess the best way to sum up my thanatophobia is to explain the feeling you would probably be overcome by, knowing you are about to die, is how I feel almost all the time. It is a constant state of fear, of worry, of anxiety. Sometimes the sheer desperation of the situation, the situation that everyone who is born must inevitably face, manifests in what I am forced to call a panic attack.

Panic attacks are defined as "episodes of intense fear or apprehension that are of sudden onset and of relatively brief duration." To clearly define a panic attack, many specialists believe that at least four of the following symptoms should be experienced:

• Clear intense panic
• Palpitations, or accelerated heart rate
• Sweating
• Trembling or shaking
• Muscle tension
• Blurry vision
• Sensations of shortness of breath or smothering
• Feeling of choking
• Feeling waves of being flushed
• Chest pain or discomfort
• Nausea or abdominal distress
• Feeling dizzy, unsteady, lightheaded, or faint
• Derealisation (feelings of unreality) or depersonalization (being detached from oneself)
• Fear of losing control or going insane
• Fear of dying
• Paresthesias (numbness or tingling sensations)
• Chills or hot flashes
• Weakness in the knees
• Confusion
• Tunnel vision
• Blank mind
• Sensing time going by very slowly
• Feeling the need to escape
• Feeling of warmth inside, expanding from within
• Head pressure, unlike headache

In my moments of thanatophobia-induced panic, I have at some point, experienced all of these symptoms and consistently experience 15 of the 25 symptoms. However (and this is very much a point of interest to my psychologist and my psychiatrist) the most glaringly obvious sign of my panic and distress that he hasn't heard of before is my uncontrollable, piercing and blood-curdling screams. I actually reach a state of such frenzy and desperation that I scream, so long and so loudly I often lose my voice for up to four days.

The sound of my screams, usually somewhere between 1am and 4am, would wake my father up with a chilling fright. He has often marvelled that our neighbours have never called the police to report a potential crime. He's explained this as being due to us living on acreage or thanks to the Genovese Syndrome, the bystander effect where witnesses often tend to believe someone else will help. It is because of this that I even found myself in the uncomfortable situation of explaining to my new neighbours, who shared apartment walls with me in my new unit block, that if they were woken by my late night screaming I was simply having a panic attack. I actually had to promise my neighbours that if I was ever in danger I would scream real words such as, "help me, please!" so they would be able to assist me.

I don't remember much about these intense screaming panic attacks. My psychologist is even wary of calling them that, but I have no other word for them. I've been told I scream 'What if I'm wrong?' This alludes to my Buddhist beliefs but obviously, if I am wrong, what is there? Is there nothing? And that is ultimately my base fear. Ceasing to exist. And then I scream.

I do not have these panic attacks in daylight hours – although I have come dangerously close in cinemas. I do however have the traditional panic attacks. I will feel as if everything is closing in on me, the sheer inevitability and overwhelming desperation at my lack of control of death renders me unable to function. I will gasp for breath, my heart will race, I will sweat and I will need to call someone to talk. I often choke down the phone, “talk to me! About anything!” My network of friends and family know not to ask questions and to just start rambling about the first thing that comes to mind – their job, football scores, traffic, the weather, anything to distract my mind. I focus on their voice and their words until I feel it’s safe to open my mouth without a blood-curdling scream escaping.

Miss SAMawdsley xx


PS: For help with Thanatophobia, please join my Facebook support group: Thanatophobia / Fear of death

Questions:

• Have you ever had a panic attack?
• Have you ever perhaps lost control and started screaming?
• What are your thoughts on thanatophobia or anxiety?

When are you "faced with death"?

My last post on death for a while, I promise! xx

*      *      *      *      *      *      *

Someone I've known for a long time and who is very close to me has been told he may die soon. At worst, he may not live to see Christmas.

He is facing death.

I run the 100+ Club. Every member of this club is aged 100 or more. Considering the average life expectancy in Australia is 81.5 years, it's fair to say these people are living on borrowed time and that inevitably, and somewhat soon, they will die.

They are facing death.

Consider someone who has been diagnosed with cancer and has been told they have 18 months to live.

They are facing death.

A 25 year old with cystic fibrosis has, on average, another 10 years to live.

They are facing death too, right?

Would you feel a pang of sympathy for all these people and their bravery in knowing death is imminent? I do.

Would you be at all surprised if the people who live these realities (and they are real) were afraid? If they questioned their purpose, their death and what was beyond that? I wouldn't.

Now I have, at best, 80 years to live. Am I facing death? At what point on the winding down clock do we feel we are "facing death"? How much sand needs to be left in the hourglass to keep us comforted, unfazed by our mortality and confident in our existence?

"Like sand through the hourglass, these are the days of our lives..." (think about it)

For help & support with thanatophobia, or to chat with like-minded individuals, please click here --> CLICK ME!

Miss SAMawdsley xx

He's coming for you, you know?

Yesterday I asked, are you afraid of dying? Interestingly, the response was less enthusiastic. Here are the responses I got.

Samantha: Love the blog hun! I have never been afraid of dying until recently. I'm a Christian and believe that I'll be going on to paradise. I don't know what it'll be like but i know it will be fab! I think it was a Jewish man that once said 'We have as much concept of the afterlife as an unborn baby does of the outside world' but that doesn't bother me. I don't fancy the idea of drowning but the actual moment of death i imagine to be very peaceful. HOWEVER... since having my baby boy I'm terrified of leaving him. I'm also scared that something could happen to me while my husband is at work and my baby would be screaming until he got home! It's amazing how having a child changes your outlook on life! X

Lee: I'm not afraid of dying, or death, but I do worry about those I would leave behind if I did pass on.

WWKnight: Im afraid of living an insignificant life, and thus I am afraid of dying without having achieved anything. But I am not actually afraid of the dying itself.

Karen: No I am only afraid of the way I will die as long as it is painless and with dignity I have seen so many deaths in my life and know how horrible death can be so I am hoping i go quickly and in my sleep. I also would rather die than live with dementia or alzheimers disease. 

@paolavanessa: I'm not afraid of dying. I'm afraid of dying too soon.

Anonymous: As terrified as I am of public speaking, I would choose that over the coffin only because the thought of my kids without me breaks my heart.

The following conversation also took place on my blog...

Anonymous: Death doesn't worry me - why spend your life worrying about death. I don't believe in after life's, heaven and pet cementaries so there isn't motivation to end up in the fluffy clouds or worry about burning my toast in hell. Death isn't something I contemplate or consider the ramifications of. Those who fear death - in what way does this fear impact on your living? 

Samantha: I am afraid of death. Well, I am afraid of ceasing to exist. The impacts for me are huge. I have suffered panic attacks since I was 11 and have been in and out of therapy since then. Nothing has helped. Most recently, I was in hospital with a burn and while on pain killers, lost complete control and started screaming, I mean really hysterically screaming because I thought about the fact I am going to die. So it definitely impacts on my living. 

Anonymous: yeah, death itself doesnt phase me, I wont know about it when I'm gone. Losing someone else close (children, husband etc, not parents cos I see that as the natural order of things)and experiencing that pain again is enough to put me into a state of manic terror.

Samantha: "I won't know about it when  'I'm gone". It is exactly that thought that terrifies to the point that I can't breathe... Literally being unable to think, feel, love... oh God... :( 

I also posted a poll on Facebook asking if respondents were afraid of dying. My boyfriend & another friend responded. That is it. And they both said no. So what am I to gather from this response? I may just be inferring but from what I am lead to believe, most great scientific discoveries started out as mere hypotheses. I wonder if maybe people are more willing to talk about other fears. Other fears like heights, spiders, snakes and insects can be avoided. Theoretically, you could survive the rest of your life without ever climbing a ladder again. If you were lucky enough, maybe, just maybe, you would never have to come across another spider ever again. But death? I could live for another week and die or I could live for another 80 years and die. But whatever happens and however long it takes, I am going to die. You are going to die. Every single person you have ever known, or will ever know, is going to die.

He's coming for you, you know?

I know this is a morbid topic and people don't like to think about it. It is my belief that people without thanatophobia / fear of death are not void of a fear of dying. I believe they simply don't think about it.

Tell me I'm wrong.

Miss SAMawdsley xx

Are YOU afraid of dying?

Yesterday I asked, what is your biggest phobia? Here are the answers I received on my Facebook.

Samantha Mawdsley: is doing a quick poll. Dear friends, what is your biggest fear/phobia? 

Nikki: Probably death, oh and spiders :-/

Sarah: Snakes and losing another baby/child.

Tea Man: Bears that can roller blade

Robert: that this is all i shall be

Matthew: Quick spontaneous Polls....

Matthew: Agggghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

Nikki: Good point Sarah, ill add losing someone you love to my list!

Simon: Buried alive...

Brad: Not finding out who Ted marries

Nikki: haaaaaave you met Ted?

Mandy: Geckos and heights...in that order!

Karen: Spiders and snakes in no particular order

Samantha: Phobia of posting letters (?!) and fear of something happening to my baby

Kimberley: Entomophobia (fear of insects). Especially when the damn things are within breathing space of me

Rebecca: my parents dying. .

Sharyn: That all my kiddies will forget me (including the adopted ones)

David: Stagnation, irrelevancy, spiders.

Kate: the dark, losing the people close to me and the future

Twitter gave me the following responses.

@iVerbalise: #foreveralone

@lycanlife: People knowing my fears & taking advantage of them.

This quick poll taught me a few things. Firstly, I have some funny, funny friends. Matt & Brad crack me up! Also, some people don't take fear and phobias seriously. This is something I have learned already. Few people understand my fears and while I admit my story about why I'm scared of flying is quite amusing, my resulting fear is not a laughing matter. I am terrified.

Interestingly, spiders pretty much top the list, closely followed by snakes. Many of the things on this list can kill you - with the obvious exceptions of geckos and posting letters. The other common fears also relate to death. There are six responses directly involving death but only one person actually lists death as their biggest fear. If I am to believe my unprofessional and pretty non-scientific poll, one in 19 people is actually afraid of dying? This brings me to my next question and this is going to be hard for me, but in the interests of "scientific" research, I need to ask. Please comment and share your thoughts and feelings on the subject.

Are you afraid of dying?

Miss SAMawdsley xx

PS: I once heard that more people are afraid of public speaking than dying. Which means that at a funeral, most people would rather be in the coffin than giving the eulogy...

Where would you rather be?

* * * * * More to come tomorrow * * * * *