- Mascots: I have a serious fear for these giant animated creatures in suits, especially when I hear human voices coming out of their mouths. My brain is screaming with logic, such as, "Mobley, keep cool, gurl. Hooty the Owl is all about academic excellence. He's totally not looking at you with hungry glass eyes. Don't you dare flip shit--" And then I proceed to flip shit anyways. No joke, there was on time in middle school in which I was attending a basketball game. I was doing well ignoring our mascot (the Fighting Yellow Jacket), but the dude inside was a classmate who knew me fairly well. He decided to hunt me down in the bleachers, open the mouth of his mask, and shove me head inside.
Guess who fainted seconds before halftime? This gal lol!
-Spiders and most bugs: Can't do it. Nope. Nu-uh. Nada. Get your extra legs outta here, dammit! I'll literally scream at the sight of a cockroach or spider, imagine that they're locked onto me as their next target like, "You're next, biatch." Those fuckers have a long hit list, I just know it. They're planning out downfall man, bet money. When I started my first year of college, I was terrified to be away from home, one of those reasons being that I didn't have my father nearby, the designated "comforting cuddle bear who kills all bugs on sight". Weeelp--sure enough. One night I got up at like 3 AM to use the bathroom...then stopped...heard this weird, like...scratching sound. Rapid. But a low sound. Sent chills down my spine.
Lo and behold, looked in the sink to see this MASSIVE, muscular-looking ass spider trying to crawl out. It kept sliding back down though because of the slick surface, so it just kept doing that on loop. Frantically. Omg. It scared the ever-living-sweet-baby-jesus out of me! My soul proceeded to leave my body as I screamed bloody murder and woke up everyone in the suite. Had to call my mother so her voice would calm me down. Took 30 minutes for my roommates to believe me and investigate...the spider was gone. I didn't sleep for two days straight! :D
-Not meeting up to my parents' expectations: Well, without going into too much detail, my family life was shitty and chock full of constant drama. It still is to this day. Being the youngest of five, I was able to watch as each and every one of my elder siblings just...disappointment my parents left and right. Crime, drugs, abuse, ungrateful behavior, heartbreak, arguments, alcohol abuse, the whole nine yards. With every headache that unfolded, the more I saw my parents visibly wither. I refused to cause them a similar pain, so I worked my ass off to become the best child they could ask for. Luckily, I did well so far. Valedictorian, Summa Cum Laude graduate, etc. They always seem so happy whenever they see me, and seeing that happiness in turn sort of...validates me. I guess. It literally breathes meaning into my existence. So, of course, the thought of letting them down, of seeing disappointment flicker through their gaze is...just fucking crippling. In the end, I know they want the best for me and to pursue whatever I want, but, at the end of the day, what I want is for them to realize that they are everyday superheroes and are the best parents the world has ever seen.
Failing to make them realize that terrifies me.
-Guns/Gunshots: Boy of boy. Lemme tell ya. I have no choice but to be downright petrified of guns. I grew up around guns. The neighborhood of my childhood wasn't safe at all; there were frequent break ins and gun fights and such. There were nights when shots went off and it sent me racing to my parents' room, literally trembling like a leaf. A bullet had taken my cousin's life, I wasn't keen on being the next one. Secondly, my sister also had an unfortunate experience with guns. The fault was on her part, to be honest. She was cocky. Felt empowered with a gun in her hands. She was wavering it around. Playing with it...without the safety on. It went off, utterly blowing off the top-half of her left index finger. It sucked even more since she's left-handed; adapting was a long and miserable process for her. Finally--the cherry on top--I was briefly caught in the crossfire of a shootout. It was supposed to be a simple walk to the convenience store and then coming home with apple juice. It was kinda dark, the sun just setting. But I was close to home. It was fine--which was what I thought until gunshots went off. A car came screeching down the road and I'll never forget the sight of some dude leaning out the window with a gun in hand and shooting at the vehicle right behind him. Guys, I didn't see the bullets, but I knew they came real fucking close to popping a cap in my ass.
I had to jump into the bushes and wait for them to leave. Then I sprinted home, thoroughly traumatized. Wasn't fun. So yeah, I don't scream or anything when I'm near a gun...because I'd be too busy hightailing my ass out of there like an Olympic track runner for Kenya. Yeet!
I could be telling stories all day about how much of a chicken I am, but I won't bombard you guys with an essay lol!
