Batophobia

I look at the skinny girl sitting in front of my desk. No, not sitting. The girl is perching. A tan-skinned woman with blond hair smiles, saying, “Mimi, this is Dr. Edwards. This is the man who will help you. Say hello and introduce yourself, Mimi. Don’t be afraid.” My gaze shifts to the skinny girl. She is so frail; she could almost be classified as anemic. Her skin is pale, like a sheet of paper. “My name is Miriam. I am batophobic. Maggie said you could help me. Your office is very short. It makes me happy. Please don’t add any other floors. If you do, I can’t see you anymore.” I smile at this girl who is obviously wrecked from her fear. “Miriam, you will be quite safe here, I can assure you. Is there anything you want to say?” The girl smiles shyly. “I wore my favorite lipstick. Maggie let Miriam wear her favorite lipstick. Maggie is my guardian angel, but she just calls herself a sister. She’s my sister, too. Do you have a sister? When can you heal me?” I smile at her again. Something about this girl makes me want to enjoy life to its fullest. “We will start with a diagnosis. What exactly is your fear? What are you afraid of?” I take out my official-looking clipboard and a No. 2 pencil. Miriam says, “Batophobia.” I raise my eyebrows, “Excuse me?” Miriam gasps, “Batophobia! Fear of… heights and buildings.” She starts breathing irregularly. This girl is afraid to the point of not being able to speak of her phobia. I write down one word beside her name—urgent. I pick up the receiver and press down a button. I speak into the phone and say, “Theresa, could you take Miriam J. to the back room and calm her down while I talk to her guardian?” I hang up the phone and wait, tapping my fingers lightly on the wooden desk in front of me. Theresa, my assistant, comes in shortly and takes Miriam, who wails, “Maggie don’t let go!” I wonder what she means. As soon as the door clicks shut, I turn to Maggie. “Her phobia has taken over. I had no idea she would be this far gone,” I mutter. Maggie sniffs, tears in her eyes, “You have to help her. I can’t handle the stress anymore! Pretending to be happy all the time, carefree, is tearing me apart! If she sees you crying she starts panicking! She has a long story, but is she talks about it her mind is overwhelmed. She’s deliberately avoiding her fear and therefore shrinking farther into herself. I will pay whatever fees you need. Just please help her!” Maggie breaks down and starts crying. I stand up and put a hand on her shoulder. She looks up, her eyes shining and watery. I smile down at her. “I will.” She sniffs, smiling. “You will?” I nod, and she breaks down and starts crying again, but I know she is happy this time. Miriam comes back into the room and Theresa takes Maggie to get some tissues and clean the tears off of her face. I turn to Miriam. "Miriam, can I call you Mimi?” I ask her. She smiles, “Only if you heal me.” I say, “How are you, Mimi?” She throws her hands up and says, “Thank you so much!” I smile again. “Mimi, I know it’s hard for you to talk about your fear, but what if you wrote about it? Can you do that?” She laughs, “I don’t know! I’ve never tried!” I take her pale, cold hands in mine, “Write, Mimi. Write about why you are so afraid. Write about what you are afraid of. Write your history, Miriam.”