Therapy

Just between you and me, I put myself in therapy. I am afraid of heights.

This fear has not been a handicap in my day-to-day life. There have been few times in my accounting career where I have had to work at the top of a 450 foot crane. Okay, none. But I was tired of dealing with it.

I am not afraid of ladder type heights, but building type heights, or cliff type heights, or any you-could- jump-from-and-not-survive height. Notice that I said “jump” and not “fall.” You see, I am not afraid of falling. I'm quite sure I would not enjoy a long fall with a sudden stop, but that is not my phobia. I am afraid of jumping.

When I peer over a ledge, I have an urge to fling myself off. Looking down, the distance is like a magnet pulling me forward. Weird. Weird and with a simple solution. Don't jump. Thank you, I don't intend to.

It is much better if I know I can't jump. In a tall building, on an airplane, or anyplace with a solid barrier, I'm fine. As long as I'm restrained, I'm fine. I suppose a large, ugly man holding me in a choke-hold would work, but I was thinking more along the lines of a wall or glass. Something more substantial than a mere rail. If I wanted to, I could jump a rail.

If jumping is expected, no problem. In rappelling down a cliff you are supposed to jump, and I'm fine when rappelling. That first time over the edge is a bit unnerving, but after I know the rope will hold, I'm good.

Having a parachute on my back also eliminates the urge to jump, which is strange since jumping is the only way you can use a parachute the way it is intended to be used. During my first three jumps, I didn't feel that fear of heights. Not in the plane, not at the open door of the plane, and not standing outside the door of the plane holding onto the wing strut. I didn't exactly feel as comfortable as in my La-Z-Boy, but I wasn't afraid of flinging myself out in an intentional effort to plummet to the ground. Yes, I was jumping on purpose, but it was with a parachute on my back and with relative certainty that my chute would open.

It wasn't until my fourth jump, my third of the day, that I felt any fear. Just by coincidence, that was the last time I jumped.

So, a few months ago I enrolled in therapy. Self therapy. I found a 300 foot overlook and I walked to the edge. I looked over. I felt the urge to jump. I didn't like it, so enough of that. I backed up about three feet and sat on a big rock. It is harder to jump from a sitting position. I sat there for about 45 minutes, sort of peering over the edge every now and then. I never got comfortable, so I quit therapy. Just walked out. Personally, I think my therapist had no idea what he was doing.

Or maybe he did. I have decided never to jump. I think that is a decision I can live with.