Cherophobia

Fear is a funky, intoxicating cocktail. Yes, it’s fun and makes you do things a person could probably regret. It would lower your inhibitions and brings out a wild side that is best hidden for most people. But what makes my cocktail of fear deadlier than yours is only due to one ingredient. My drink tastes lethal due to a spoon of happiness added to it.

Just like how we tag everything and anything. My aversion from happiness also has a sophisticated name with meaning derived from ancient languages. The drink I am trying to get de-addicted from is known as “Cherophobia”. Chero in Greek means rejoice.

My drink, unlike other alcoholic beverages, doesn’t allow you to do things. Sounds good on paper but is worse than the hangovers induced by the stronger flavours. It hinders the ability to experience joy because you are stuck with an image that something bad is going to happen, just like the bills we have to settle.

The thought of your own happiness being your greatest source of fear sounds funny. But, we are part of a democracy which believes that a charismatic man would change our life in months or a man just because of his surname can lead us to peace and prosperity. It has been a puzzle like a Rubik’s Cube. A brush of colours progressing through your hands and going to the destination where those pieces could be together in unison. But just like you aiming for more satisfaction, it gets shuffled again.

An understanding of happiness being a waste of time shored up in my mind a few months back as the idea of them being unproductive. Shunning them was easy. Only in the rare moments of going out with those selective people/person would I have a chance to experience happiness. It usually deflates by night with an unfortunate assumption that a really bad argument is going to break out. Apart from one or two, my communication with others would probably be terminated just so to avoid possible confrontations.

The reasons are plenty on why such phobia has found a host in me but what hurts more is the thought as compared to everything, this fear has managed to take controls of what I think. It’s easy for these to hit a building of huge expectations one would make before the trip. Fighting this phobia sounds easy to say but hard to execute, it’s not recommended to go into the manual mode of control because that overrides other problems. While the auto mode ensures that everything remains oblivious and there’s nothing to feel at the end.

On my recent trip to a place which was in my mind for a long time, I found joy in unexpected quarters. Mid-night conversations in a delayed train, slow scooter rides with a friend while silence provided an unsettling solace. Searching for stars and encountering a dying star reminded me of my trysts with the happy emotion.

In the end, I have to defeat this intoxication. It does sound like war cry but keeping my memories in mind. It’s high time I fight the battle. Instead of running away, I am indulging in a little these days. In my mind, I can feel that a person in the typical narrator voice warning me not to do as things will end in a bad way. I occasionally find a mute switch for that scary feeling when I am just happy, which gives a temporary respite. But that need to drink that cocktail and whine and cry still exist at the edge of the glass.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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