Stairs – My Arch Nemesis

I have posted about fears before, and I touched briefly on my stupid fear.
Stairs.
Yep, your eyes don’t deceive you, you aren’t bleary eyed. I, Miss Tinker, am pretty terrified of steps.
Stairs in a house don’t bother me. A few steps in the street cause me no concern. But stairs on mass give me a fuzzy feeling in my spine and make my teeth feel fluffy. I feel myself shudder and swallow more times than necessary. It’s the fear. I know it sounds utterly ridiculous and there is no way I can rationalise my phobia, but it’s not the stairs themselves, but rather the fear of falling down them.
I don’t think I’m calling on a past experience here, but walking down a massive flight of stairs makes me panic and want to cry. I especially don’t like spiral staircases or steps with gaps between them, and I freak out if I have to walk down a flight of stairs and I can’t see my feet, like in a crowd situation.
People think I’m crazy.

At the start of the year Adam and I went to Baden Baden. The hotel we stayed at was at the top of a massive windy hill, reached by a long walk up a windy road or a shorter walk up (or down) a massive flight of really old stairs that were crumbling and to be honest, downright horrible. It brought about a conversation with him being completely incredulous about my fear, and honestly thinking I was pulling his leg. This happens a lot.
In March, Emma and I went to Portugal. We visited the lovely castle in Tavira with a stunning view over the town. It’s fun to climb up and down the ruins of the castle, up flights of stairs to get the best view and to see the town in all its glory. For everyone but me. These steps and I have come up against each other before!

(Another encounter with the stairs of doom. Ex boyfriend pottered about up there, marvelling at how great the view was and how the steps really weren’t that bad. I knew better. Experience had taught me well!!)

Growing up I spent my summers in that town, playing in those castle ruins and watching my sister and my dad climb to the top. What fun! So I tried it. It resulted in my father having to stand behind me and my grandfather in front while they gently coaxed me down the old stone steps, complete with sheer drop to one side. And my poor Daddy has encountered me with staircases before having to carry me down the staircase in one particular castle after I got to the top. After all, the climb to the top isn’t too bad, is it? You’re looking up and so it seems fun, but faced with the view down the seemingly never ending spiral, I was hoisted into a fireman’s lift and carried to safety, bawling my eyes out the whole way. Just so you know, the fear becomes worse when thrown over someone’s shoulder. At that point you are still going down the stairs, but aren’t even in control of the feet taking you there!
As a child my Mum’s sister had a house with those wooden steps with the gaps in. they’re a really eighties concept, but I would always carefully remove my socks before going up or down them. I am guilty of an overactive imagination, but in my head there was a chance that I would slip and get lodged between the steps, maybe even slipping right through and plunging to my death, and the chances of this were greatly reduced by removing my socks. Like I said, overactive imagination. I was a podgy child and would never have fit between the steps for a start….
What irrational fear do you have? Please take your time to get over giggles at my stupid fear before replying, of course. I’m good to you all, aren’t I?!