Ochlophobia

I remember the first time I felt that wave of now familiar panic, the need to get out or be lost forever in the sea of people. People, everywhere, closing in and suffocating me. I had to get out; I had to breathe unadulterated air.

I ducked into the door of a shop, hiding as best I could, away from the people. They flooded past. I couldn't get away. The next thing I did was hide behind the counter, bemused shop girls staring down as I sobbed.

I was only three.

The constant panic that surrounded me on shopping trips after that was soon diagnosed as ochlophobia. A lot of people confuse my symptoms with claustrophobia. It isn't the same. I have a fear of becoming lost in the crowd, and being unable to find my way out. My mother blames herself, of course, but it wasn't her fault I wandered off to look at a guitar I saw all the way over the other side of the shopping centre. Even back then I loved music with a burning passion.

I set down my pen and sighed. Usually I drew on my experiences. But today...

I was trying to write something different. About the perils of lust. What would I know though? I haven't experienced it truly- my ochlophobia extends to an intense dislike of strangers. Not a fear; that's something else entirely. I meet a lot of people in my life at the clinic, where they try and get you to realise your fear is stupid. Mine isn't. It's completely justified. As is Hannah's xenophobia- she was beaten and raped by a stranger, who happened to be Hispanic. She's terrified of Spanish people and most strangers in general. Some are incredibly stupid- there's one boy who's terrified of the number 666. I can barely remember what it's called, so I'm not going to say the name of it. It's stupidly long though, and begins with hex. When I first questioned my phobia, I began to look up others. You know how the question goes 'why is abbreviation such a long word?’ Yeah, well, you should see the name for the fear of long words. Hippopotomonstrosesquippedaliophobia, I believe. I should try using that in a song... Make it interesting.

The one phobia I never got was a boy called Caleb's, a fear he's suffered since a young age. Melophobia. That's the fear of music. I mean other than that, Caleb is brilliant. He's gorgeous, attractive and gay. Like me. But his fear of music is such that he can't even look at a guitar- an essential part of my life. I bring it with me to every session I have to endure. Though he's currently going through a systematic desensitisation programme, he still can't bring himself to look at my guitar. Or me. Because I once sung in front of him. It still hurts that he won't look at me.

Even as I sat at the window, saddened by my lack of inspiration and the fact that Caleb hated me, I watched a van pull up. And not just any van, at any place. A moving van, next door. That meant the elderly old bat next door had moved out! I danced slightly for a moment, before composing myself. I never liked her; she despised me for liking boys. She also despised me because I kicked one of her cats a while back. While I watched, a boy got out, about my age, his hair cut similarly to mine. My breath hitched slightly as a familiar feeling set in- panic. Strangers, in the house next door. They would be over, my mum would invite them in, and the house would be full. I was transported back to the first time I experienced that panic and I was suddenly struggling to catch my breath. I was panting quickly, the beginnings of hyperventilation. I reached into a drawer close to the window and pulled out a paper bag, breathing into it quickly.

Suddenly, I noticed the boy had turned his face to look at me and I realised I looked rather strange with a paper bag pressed to my face. My breath had frozen in my throat. Well that’s one way to take care of my breathing pattern… I lifted the paper bag from my face, and found myself breathing normally. This boy was gorgeous. I found myself wanting to meet him. Wanting to find out what colour those soft eyes were exactly. Wanting to touch him and… No, I couldn’t be thinking these things. He was a stranger. He wasn’t going to understand, he was going to… Oh, I gave up. I was gay, and I could only hope he was too. Because he was beautiful.