Fear of Heights

Mark 5: 33 But the woman fearing and trembling, knowing what was done in her, came and fell down before him, and told him all the truth.

Some might ask, “Why are you so afraid of heights?”

When I was a kid, my brother (yeah, THAT one) and sister thought I was put here to get all their frustrations and anger out and by teasing me relentlessly, it made them feel better about themselves. My brother would never admit his wrongdoing, my sister felt guilt and admitted it in therapy many years after the damage to me was already done.

The height issue came in when I was real young, I’d say about eleven or twelve. We lived in a three-story row house in the city, and if you stood outside, there was only one house on the block that was as tall as ours.

My two brothers shared the third floor, a big room with three extremely tall windows in the front. My one brother, the neat freak we called him, had put a blanket in the center of the room separating him from the dirty brother.

Looking out those windows made you think of death! It always felt like the house was swaying to and fro, so getting up close to the window really put a fright in me, but none other than the time we were making paper airplanes and flying them out the window to see how far they’d go.

I was enjoying tossing them out, and running down the steps to see what a mess we were making of the street. I couldn’t bend out the window too much to watch because of the swaying, but one time I did. My brother came up behind me quietly, pushed me and yelled “RAH!” at the same time.

I saw my young life flash before my eyes and of course I began screaming and hollering, it’s what I did to defend myself. With no parents around and my sister in the other window laughing hysterically, I went downstairs to my room and just sat and cried. My whole body was trembling like an 8.0. earthquake.

They didn’t care; they got their pleasure, so what if Joni was scared to death! Death! Something I wanted, but never got.

Another time with the heights was when we had a school trip to the City Fair. I had always refused the Zipper on our many trips to Ocean City, but my friend talked me into riding this one time (or lest I be thought a big sissy.) So I got in the caged seat and up we went, and around we went and I could feel my stomach churning, but a brave face is what I wore!

Suddenly the caged ride stopped. We were at the top overlooking the city and everyone below looked like tiny marching ants. We swayed, we rocked, I feared. After twenty minutes at the top, besides getting in trouble with the school, I knew something serious was happening below. We were broken down. Our time of seeing the important school friendly booths was coming to an end. That is why the Catholic school called for the trip, so we could see the educational booths, not ride rides!

I was seeing the school bus loading up. I could see my life flashing before my eyes. I pulled out my cigarettes and began smoking. You know, like in the old movies, give me one last cigarette before I die? That was me, and as long as we were smoking, my friend wouldn’t rock the cage. Flick the cigarette, rock, rock, rock! I smoked the entire TWO HOURS we were at the top of the Zipper!!!

The ride churned to life and as we began our descent, the operator was letting us know we’d get a free ride for all our troubles. Around we went, screaming to get off. I used really colorful foul language for a Catlicker! (That is what the public school kids teased us and called us.)

We came to a stop to be let off the cage of death. More colorful language flew out of my mouth at the operator! I knew I would never ride that piece of death-metal ever again!

Another incident with the height issue arose when we all: a few of their friends, my brother 18, sister 17 and her boyfriend 18, and I 14, decided to go to State Park for a hike and a swim. The cooler loaded up with beer and we were on the two-mile trek to the waterfall where we would go swimming. A secluded tree-lined path  guided us to our destination.

Yes I was now an alcoholic drinking, smoking, smoking weed (and more) full blown by the time I was fourteen! State park was a quiet retreat for swimming and drinking teens. We arrived at the waterfall and kids were already there sliding down the metal run-over like it was a sliding board, I refrained, fear of heights and all that.

There was this really tall piece of concrete sticking up about thirty feet out of the water that my brother and his friend were jumping off of, it looked like fun so I thought, be brave Joni, be brave, jump!

I climbed up the wall, thinking I could overcome my fear of heights, and alcohol makes you think some crazy things. Up I went and stood out on the tip of the slab, preparing to jump. My brother had come up behind me. I didn’t hear him coming because the rushing waterfall was pretty loud. He came up behind me and pushed me off the edge. I dropped the thirty feet to the water and about ten feet underwater, where my feet touched the rocky bottom.

Shaking and trembling I swam to the edge of the waterline where we had been sitting. When I surfaced they were all looking in the spot I went down, thinking I had drowned because I didn’t surface right away.

I got out of the water, began crying and realized I had sobered up, ever so quickly. I didn’t speak to my brother the entire way back to the car. I was mad! I was reaching my end of my brother’s antics and one day I knew I’d get him back. (the B.U.T incident (previous post) was sweet justice in my eyes!)