There was a time when it made sense to be afraid of loud noises. From the helium balloon in the stairwell when I was five, right up until last year, I had never thought that it could be otherwise. I knew that the reason I feared things that others did not, such as balloons, was due to loud noises, but I had never dared to question why I feared loud noises until that night last year. It was only then that I accepted that my fear was real, and it was this acceptance which gave me the strength to fight my fear.
There was once a time when my fear made me physically ill, and, waking up, it felt miraculous to have lived another day.
But that time is not any more. With my fear down the toilet (literally and metaphorically), I am now free. In four days' time, I am bound for Europe, and neither loud noise, nor balloon, nor aeroplane toilet will hold me back.
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