At age 12, my bare-bottomed friend A-Bao fell to his death from a tree right before my eyes. Thirty years later, that horrifying scene still flashes through my mind. Worse, it gave me a lifelong fear of heights.
When choosing a home after marriage, we moved from the top floor to the fifth floor, then the third floor, finally settling on the second floor. Every time I hang laundry on the balcony—not particularly high—leaning over makes me feel a vast emptiness. It’s as if a tiny hand beckons from below, or a gravitational pull threatens to suck me down to the ground, shattering me to pieces.At such moments, my heart races, breath catches, and cold sweat breaks out. A grown man, I need my wife to assist with any household task requiring height—like standing on a stool to install a light bulb. When she can't manage, I must call on friends...
My passion for swimming transforms nearby reservoirs into my natural playground during summer and fall.Breaststroke, backstroke, diving—this man past forty swam with the joy and vigor of a young lad. That time, the reservoir swelled, blending sky and water into one vast expanse. Faced with this perfect swimming opportunity, several usually bold friends hesitated on the shore, pushing and shoving each other, none daring to take the plunge.Even Da Wu, the boldest among us, muttered, "I only know the dog paddle—I'd sink to the bottom!"
Gazing at the rippling, endless expanse of water, my heart itched with desire. Feeling the beads of sweat forming on my chest and back, I stripped off my clothes and plunged into the crystal-clear depths with a splash, diving straight down.Seeing this timid guy—the kind who gets nervous just standing on his windowsill to clean glass—pull off such a feat, the whole crew cheered in unison.
Suddenly, I spotted Old Chen swimming toward the distance while gesturing to me. I quickly caught up. As we approached the southern shore, I noticed a crooked tree leaning over the water, its crown towering several stories above the surface. A handful of people cautiously climbed onto its branches, mimicking diving poses.
Old Chen, well past fifty, scrambled up the tree with a few swift moves. His dark, muscular frame trembled three times atop the branches before plunging into the water with a resounding splash—a mix of bungee jumping and diving. Moments later, he surfaced beside me, grinning broadly.Without a word, he winked at me, puckered his lips, and glanced up at the crooked old elm tree—challenging me!How could I let Old Chen—who was over a decade older and usually outmatched in every way—get the better of me? In that moment, fear seemed to vanish. I scrambled to the treetop in no time, mimicking his stance. Standing tall and proud, I took a deep breath. Without a second thought, I flipped forward and plunged headfirst from the treetop into the water, all eyes on me.
When I surfaced unscathed, it dawned on me: what a profound transformation my spirit had undergone! With the water below to catch me, this had become my direct catalyst for releasing pressure, proving my swimming ability, and shattering my timidity!
Old Chen and I started competing in aerial diving, racing to see who could climb higher and faster.At that moment, I had transformed this high-altitude "activity" into a series of adrenaline rushes, releasing years of pent-up emotional pressure! Bolstered by the crowd's courage, Old Chen and I competed in tree-top diving for over two hours, finally ending when Old Chen's stamina gave out.
It was precisely after that chance dive that I sensed the shackles of my deep-seated fear of heights had been broken. From then on, I not only frequently engaged in high-altitude diving but also, in winter at the swimming pool, under the guidance of a "coach," stood on the high diving platform, continually increasing both the height and difficulty of my dives.After over a year of training through high-altitude diving, the "chronic ailment" of acrophobia that had plagued me for over 30 years gradually faded away without my noticing...
Fear of heights is merely a false scar
The philosopher Khalil Gibran once said, "Suffering reveals the strength of the soul, and the most evident sign of this is the scar left by a healed wound."Thus, people often say "time heals all wounds." In truth, this is merely our rational mind covering wounds with scars, pretending the pain has vanished. Yet the real suffering doesn't fade with time—it merely disguises itself and continues to haunt us.The "I" in this text serves as proof: the pain of witnessing a childhood friend fall to his death from a height quietly transformed into a scar in adulthood—a fear of heights that constantly torments "me."
Though the "I" in the text is a grown man, he harbors an intense fear of heights: ① Standing at heights triggers excessive, irrational, pronounced, and persistent fear.② Experiencing pronounced anxiety reactions like rapid heartbeat, shortness of breath, and cold sweats. ③ Recognizing the fear as excessive and irrational yet being unable to overcome it. ④ Anxiety and distress significantly disrupting daily life and social activities—moving to lower floors in buildings, delegating household chores requiring elevation to his wife or friends.⑤ The condition has persisted for over 30 years.
These factors collectively indicate that "I" meet the diagnostic criteria for acrophobia (fear of heights) within the category of phobias, classified as a specific phobia. Specific phobias involve intense fear confined to particular situations, such as fear of specific animals, heights, thunder, darkness, flying, enclosed spaces, using public restrooms, or witnessing blood or injury.Common types include acrophobia (fear of heights), zoophobia (fear of animals), claustrophobia (fear of enclosed spaces), and agoraphobia (fear of open spaces).
Specific phobias often develop after experiencing a specific traumatic event, triggered by a genetic predisposition. Approximately one-third of patients have relatives with similar histories, and adult-onset specific phobias frequently stem from childhood fears.Specific phobias are often linked to severe stress experiences or exposure to specific scenarios, such as the narrator witnessing a companion's death in the text. Specific phobias generally emerge in childhood. Even without treatment, most resolve by early adolescence, with only a minority persisting into adulthood. Pain can be concealed by scars; treatment is often sought only when concealment becomes impossible—a common reality for those with acrophobia.Because the triggers for specific phobias are concrete—such as tall buildings, open squares, or dogs—those affected often develop numerous avoidance strategies over the years, like avoiding balconies whenever possible. Consequently, patients typically seek treatment only when facing significant life events that their fear makes difficult to undertake. In reality, the impact of specific phobias on daily life depends on how easily the individual can avoid the feared situation. Those whose lives are severely affected should pursue active treatment.
Treatment for specific phobias primarily involves exposure therapy, a common behavioral approach. While treatment often significantly reduces fear intensity, complete elimination is rare. Success relies on necessary long-term, repeated practice. In the text, "I" overcame my "fear" through "diving," an unconscious application of exposure therapy that proved remarkably effective.Initially, though positioned at height, the elevation was manageable. The direct view was of water—perceived as a safety net—rather than the ground where a "shattering fall" might occur. Immersed in the triumphant joy of outcompeting colleagues, these factors enabled a smooth first step in treatment. Subsequent long-term, repeated practice ultimately conquered the acrophobia.
Yet "I" represent only an individual case. Since behavioral therapy is a painful process, most phobia sufferers cannot consciously self-treat. Resolving the issue still relies on a psychologist's assistance, along with immense courage and perseverance to persist with treatment.
As long as you confront your pain and bravely peel away the false scars, one day, the wounds will truly heal.
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