I've developed an unexplained fear of my balcony.
I've lived in the same apartment for almost five years, and its main selling feature is the majestic balcony. 22 feet long, eight feet deep. It's one more giant room, and it's outside, open air, facing west. I love that balcony.
I'm not scared to go out there. I have a little garden out there and a great lounge chair, perfect for summer sun.
But damned if when I'm out there, I don't spend every second imagining myself inexplicably falling over the side, 15 stories to what I assume would be a very messy death. Well, about half my time is spent imagining that, the other half of the time my brain is weakly trying to convince me that won't happen. You're not going to just fall. You'd have to jump. You don't want to jump. Stop thinking about it you tool.
What IS that?
The same thing happens when I drive. I am going in a perfectly straight line and everything is fine, but in my head, I'm forever being T-boned. It hasn't actually happen, but the approaching cars that pass me so easily, or that wait at stop signs for their turn to go... those cars, in my mind, are always inexplicably crashing into me.
Coincidentally, I hate driving.
What IS that?
Crossing one way streets as a pedestrian, I am convinced someone will drive the wrong way and run me over dead. I can see it in my head. It's happening.
Except it's not fucking happening. What IS that?