By
Deirdre
Fidge
There is nothing worse than
bravely and carefully opening up
to someone about your innermost
fear, and being met with raucous
laughter. We’re constantly told
to be vulnerable as a means of
connecting with people, but at what
cost?AT WHAT COST, BRENÉ BROWN?
Revealing my biggest phobia almost
always results in gleeful snorts, and
I simply cannot bear it anymore.
The truth is: moths are terrifying,
and you are all massive idiots for
not realising it.
It’s common for people to find creepy-
crawlies spooky, but it’s usually
poor spiders that cop the brunt of
the horror. Honestly, I find moths
far more terrifying than our wee
arachnid pals. Can a spider propel
itself directly at you? No! (OK, maybe
some varieties in South America or
something, or an individual spider
that’s purchased itself a miniature
jetpack.) Generally they just want to
chill out in peace. Leave spidies alone.
The real creepy-crawly we should
be monitoring is the moth. The
mere sight of an open window sans
flyscreen sends me into a panic.
Those furry demons barge into
any crevice, be it a slightly ajar
door or a human earhole. They
care not for personal space.
But it’s the unpredictability of the
moth that I find truly terrifying.
Their behaviour makes no sense.
Other so-called ‘scary’ creatures,
like snakes, tend to only attack
when feeling threatened. Moths
will exuberantly hurl their entire
bodies towards you in a dizzy, erratic
fashion for seemingly no reason,
other than to cause CHAOS. They
are anarchists of the highest order.
Take, for example, the incident of
2008, which will remain in my
psyche forever. A warm summer
night; arelativelylivelyhouse
party; pre-mixedalcopops;and
Lil Jonlivinghisbestdanglife on
someone’sparents’soundsystem.
The dreamevening.Thatis,until a
pelican-sizedmothpropelleditself
down thebuttcrackofmyjeans with
such forcethatitfeltlikeI’dbeen
struck byaboltoflightning.Iwas
left feelingviolatedandshaken,
with profoundlydustybuttocks.Since then,Itakemyselfinside
during summertimeparties,
watchingmypeersenjoythemselves
naivelywhilethosecreatures
swarm aroundnearbylightslike
drunkenbats.“Howcanpeople
ignore them?”Iwonder,sipping my
beverageinside,completelyalone
aside fromabriefpoliteconversation
every nowandthenwithsomeone
on theirwaytothetoilet.Every sooften,whenthetopic
of fearscomesupincasual
conversation,I’llmeetakindred
soul whoalsohatesmoths.When
this happens,webothusually
scream“YES!”orevenembrace.
Two strangersconnectedbyan
intensephobia,coupledwitha
mutualfeelingof‘whydon’tmore
people understand?!’Fearisa
peculiaremotion,anditcanbe
embarrassingtoadmityou’rescared
of somethingrelativelysmall, so
when thesemomentsoccur,it’s
incrediblyvalidating.We’reOK.I know peoplesaywe’remeant
to face ourfears,butI’vetriedso
many timesandjustendedupmore
terrified.Maybetheinsectscan sense
fear, I don’tknow–buttheyseem
drawn tomeasifI’mawalking,
screaminglightbulb.There’s
no reasoningwiththem,soI’ve
surrendered.Themothshavewon.Logically,ofcourse,thereare
far greaterthingsIcould–or
should –befrightenedof.I’mnot
completelyinsane:thethought of
loved onesdyingandtherealities of
climatechangeabsolutelypetrify
me. Butthoseissuesscaremein
my brain,notmybody.Nothing
brings onthatsheerrushofpanic
like anencounterwithamoth. So
please, shutthegoddamnwindow.By
Luke
Ryan
I have a theory. The mark of true
friendship is holding someone’s
greatest flaws in your mind,
knowing the most intimate
weaknesses in their character,
the parts of themselves they barely
acknowledge to exist, and choosing
not to expose them. Not that you
would, obviously. They’re your
friends – you know they could do
the same to you. But to have that
unspoken vulnerability sitting
there between you, a sentence of
mutually assured destruction that
could drop at any moment, and still
feel comfortable? Well, that’s how
you know you’ve found your people.I was espousing this theory to
my wife the other day, and she
said, “OK, so what’s yours?” (Well,
initially she said, “What’s mine?”
but not in a million years were we
having that conversation.) I had
to think for a minute. This isn’t
simply your greatest flaw or your
most annoying trait. This is that
knowledge of someone’s hidden
motivations and cognitive breaks;
the disagreements between who
they say they are and who they
know themselves to be. The thought
that loops in their head when they
wake up at three in the morning
and can’t coax their whirring mind
back to sleep. It’s heavy shit.But I think I know what mine is.
It’s the fear that I’ll be called out
for squandering my potential. Don’t
get me wrong, I haven’t exactly
been slacking off. I’ve made a fair
career out of writing. I’ve written a
book, edited a couple of anthologies
and I’m a regular contributor to
a bunch of magazines. Perhaps
most importantly, I’ve built a
sustainable life out of freelance
writing and copywriting gigs –
I’m 33 and have still never had or
needed a full-time job. (This has,
of course, ruined me. Every now
and again I’ll do a couple of weekswriters’ piece