The balmy weather of the last week and a half has been greeted with the usual mixed reaction of the inhabitants of this temperate isle. We have basked in the sun; journeyed to the beaches and the parks in sweltering cars – often with failing air conditioning; relaxed in gardens (our own or those of local drinking establishments); we have dined al fresco and we may even have managed to change the usually pale pallor of our skin to a light bronze – normally preceded by an intense purpley-red hue and multiple applications of aloe vera or some other after-sun lotion to assuage the raw pain of our sunburnt skin.
We will also have passed nights tossing and turning; roasting in our beds. At bedtime each evening, I have enjoyed the mental debate over whether to close the windows and suffer the resulting higher temperatures and stuffiness of the room or open them and risk being feasted upon by flying beasties to whom my blood is akin to a fine rioja. I always force us to endure the sweltering room as opposed to the bites or my constant paranoia that there are midgies in the room flying around my prone body like vultures circling carrion.
We will have complained at least once that it is ‘too hot’ with the addendum that we ‘shouldn’t complain though as it’ll soon be winter’. We will have sighed and puffed but we will also have enjoyed the sun rays licking our skin and the chance to wear shorts, get our legs out, wear our bright summer clothes.
I love good weather – when I am not suffocating in the confines of a classroom with windows that open just a fraction and not nearly enough to allow any great circulation of air. I love the positive energy the sun bestows upon us; the way in which our streets look so much more inviting by the simple occurrence of being topped by a clear blue sky. It’s a shame that, for me, this joy is too soon replaced by a dark edge; that as the raw heat turns to humidity, the weight of the air will start to bear down on me and my happiness will start to be tinged with worry because I know what must come next. The storms.
I cannot remember when I first felt the anxiety that stirs inside me when a thunderstorm hits, I feel as if I have always had it. Dark skies make me nervous and unsettle me. I feel resentment that I cannot entirely revel in the summer sunshine as the expectation of trauma is lurking somewhere deep in the mix.
Astraphobia is its given name (amongst others) and the strange thing is that on some occasions I feel the fear more keenly than on others. Sometimes I feel slightly agitated but relatively calm, on others I will shake and hyperventilate. I have spent some time reflecting upon the whys and wherefores of the range of reactions that I experience and the determining factors appear to be these:
1 – The severity of the storm. If there are a few distant rumbles of thunder, then of course I am not going to be as fearful as when there is forked lightening and overhead booms full of crackling electricity.
2 – Where I am. If I am at home and I can close the curtains and distract myself by watching the TV, I feel altogether more tranquil.
3 – What I am doing or have to do. I will feel a salient panic if I there is an activity that I have to do, it doesn’t take my mind off of the weather, it just adds to the perceived pressure.
4- Do I have to go outside. No way do I want to do this. I do not want to leave the house to go to work or cross the school playground to get to the other building or go outside to do my duty slot.
5- Is it day or is it night? Storms are invariably worse at night, not perhaps in real intensity but the truth is that the stark contrast of the lightening against the dark night sky makes it appear innately more menacing, add to this the increased feeling of vulnerability at being in bed, laid out waiting to be hit and it produces an altogether more terrifying situation.
People will always try and reason with me as to how safe you are during storms and that nothing will happen, they will state how miniscule the chances are that you will be hit. I have no truck with these platitudes. When my son was in year 7 at school (the school less than kilometre from my house) one of the cohort was standing by a lamppost in the carpark when a bolt bounced off it and struck him, he survived but was hospitalised for a considerable amount of time.
Due to the infrequency of storms in this country, this phobia does not enjoy a massive impact on my life, it actually just boils down to a few uncomfortable hours in any given year and nothing more, I therefore see no point in treatment. My phobia is also a part of what makes me me. Everyone has interests, hobbies, things they like, things that they hate and most people have something that they fear – this fear is mine.
We are currently forecast to endure three days with storms over the passage of this week, not whole days, I hope. Luckily, I am in the middle of my holidays and I don’t really need to go anywhere at any given time. I have things to do to distract me but nothing that I need to do (less pressure). When they hit, I know that I will receive texts and phone calls checking that I am OK, that will depend on the five factors listed above. We shall see! At least it makes for exciting times.
Poetry for Dullards 