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Phobias: Fighting the Fear
Helen Saul
A fascinating, unbiased study of what phobias are, how they occur and how we can stop them.Two in five people struggle through life under the burden of a phobia of some kind. Yet little has been done to help these sufferers understand their affliction and hence minimise it. Recent researches in evolutionary theory, physiology, neuroscience and genetics have begun to analyse the causes and effects of human phobia and have come up with thought-provoking, but widely differing, interpretations and prescriptions.Why are phobias easier to cope with at night or when wearing sunglasses? How do phobias differ throughout the world and history? Are phobias biological or psychological? Is the fear of spiders, snakes and darkness an evolutionary throwback? Does aversion therapy work? Is phobia hereditary?The first book to balance all these issues, ‘Phobias: Fighting the Fear’ is a powerful, uniquely accessible work of popular science.
Phobias:
Fighting the Fear
Helen Saul
to Mark
Table of Contents
Cover Page (#ud5ddd36d-2358-5b88-9b40-735c28de0a0e)
Title Page (#u092dd527-0c88-5b14-af92-e522e0be1d74)
Preface (#uf6c07f19-11b6-5076-abc3-1038f3496264)
Introduction (#u442a1d93-c2ee-57cf-bd1d-e0ac0ee43951)
CHAPTER 1 History (#u151799d0-5410-5581-ab38-b67062f70406)
CHAPTER 2 Evolution (#ua4c64671-8aad-532e-9387-17a87fbd48d3)
CHAPTER 3 Genetics (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER 4 Neurophysiology (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER 5 Behaviour (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER 6 Cognition (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER 7 Personality and Temperament (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER 8 Gender and Hormones (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER 9 Light and Electromagnetism (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER 10 A Physical Problem? (#litres_trial_promo)
Conclusion (#litres_trial_promo)
Further Reading (#litres_trial_promo)
Index (#litres_trial_promo)
Acknowledgements (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Author (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
Preface (#ulink_94e1b49a-22a6-5470-b48b-00eea3146f5a)
While working on this book, I was often asked which phobias I was writing about. The question initially puzzled me – my intention was always to write about all phobias – though it does perhaps reflect the common but unhelpful assumption that each phobia is a distinct problem with a distinct cause and treatment. In fact, the root causes of fear could apply equally to triskaidekaphobia (fear of the number 13) or gephyrophobia (crossing bridges). This book is intended to be less a self-help book than an exploration of the ideas and thoughts driving progress in the laboratory and the clinic. Everyone with a phobia knows what it is to fight fear and I only hope this book properly acknowledges their courage. But it aims also to focus on the way doctors and scientists are improving our understanding and fighting fear on their behalf.
I am a freelance science and medical journalist and have worked variously in TV, radio, newspapers and magazines. I have no specialist training in phobias, other than a degree in medical sciences. I have never had a phobia or received treatment. My involvement with phobias began in the autumn of 1993 while I was working at New Scientist. The then features editor, Bill O’Neill, received a dossier on the subject from a remarkably well-informed former agoraphobic, Mary Dwarka (whose story is told fully in chapter 9). She had researched her own condition in huge depth and was suggesting that New Scientist run a feature on agoraphobia. Bill was somewhat perplexed by the range of science and arguments in Mary’s work and asked me to look through it to see whether I thought there was enough in the subject to make a feature.
There was more than enough. Enough for a book, I later discovered. At the time, I spoke to a couple of people with experience of phobias and a variety of scientists working on the subject, some suggested by Mary. The resulting feature was optimistic in tone, concentrating on the great advances in our understanding and how they are already translating into new treatments in the clinic.
It sometimes seems that the more one knows about phobias, the less clear everything becomes. Ask members of the public what a phobia is and they will tell you about extreme reactions to spiders or heights. Many will reel off an anecdote about someone they have known with a bizarre fear. And, of course, these are phobias. But as one delves further, boundaries seem to disappear. Where does normal protective fear turn into a phobia? What is the link between generalised anxiety and phobias? Or between panic disorder and panic attacks and phobias? When is agoraphobia a true phobia and when a consequence or the cause of depression? What about avoidance disorders, alcoholism, some personality disorders? Where does phobia end and psychiatry begin? Entire libraries could be devoted to the subject.
Equally, when you ask specialists, they very often produce good clear answers. But ask four professionals in different disciplines and you will be lucky to hear the same thing twice. The amorphous mass of phobia research needs to be simplified for us to get anywhere. Specialists emphasise different aspects, and while none is entirely wrong, none is entirely right either.
This book is an attempt to represent many different points of view. I have chosen to focus a chapter on each approach. Readers may find that some strike a chord while others seem less relevant. Where previous books on phobias have focused on a single approach, this attempts to be an unbiased account of all the advances in all the major schools of thought dealing with phobias.
Introduction (#ulink_641392f2-0b96-55b4-abc9-dc9bdb8a723a)
Fight the Fear
John gazed out of the window in private joy. Normally reticent, he grinned broadly at the beauty of the scene. A perfectly round orange sun sat above a plain of clouds but that was not the reason. After years of fear, John was sitting for the first time in an aeroplane.
Other passengers were more obviously excited – not exactly unruly but in exceptionally high spirits. They had come through against all the odds and were laughing with their fellow heroes. Triumph, infused with slight hysteria, prevailed. They slapped each other on the back, charged around kissing and shaking hands with near-total strangers, and one or two cried.
The crew encouraged the party atmosphere, urging passengers to take off their safety belts and walk around. Boisterous adults queued to see the flight deck. Cameras clicked. The aeroplane buzzed with laughter. There were cheers as the plane went through the clouds. Cheers for Mr Evans who had just celebrated his eighty-fifth birthday. Cheers for the pilot, cheers for passengers, cheers for any reason anyone could think of.
This extraordinary journey was solely for those afraid of flying. The forty-five minute round trip from Manchester Airport was the culmination of a day’s ‘Fly with Confidence’ course. This has been run by two British Airways pilots, Captains Douglas Ord and Peter Hughes, ever since 1986, when they realised that many on BA’s flights to view Halley’s Comet had no interest in astronomy. Nervous of flying, they simply wanted to try out a short flight. Since then, 10,000 have enrolled on the course and 98 per cent have boarded the aircraft at the day’s end. No detailed follow-up has been carried out, but Hughes claims nineteen out of twenty feel more comfortable flying as a result.
Single-session treatments symbolise recent progress in dealing with phobias. Immersed in the latest therapies, sufferers can find their years-old phobia conquered in one day. Within a morning, they have been taken through the technicalities of flight, had their views on its dangers challenged and been taught basic relaxation techniques. In the afternoon this brief training is put to the test when they get on an aeroplane. Similar courses exist for those afraid of spiders. Various therapies prepare them for entry into the spider house. The vast majority are then happy to allow huge spiders to run up their arms and even through their hair.
These commercial courses represent the new attitude towards treatment for phobias. Directed at a few specific phobias, they are not a real option for most phobia sufferers. But they do demonstrate the prevailing optimism. In mainstream medicine, doctors and therapists are now confident that they can offer a working solution. Hundreds of years of theories and ideas have finally begun to make an impact.
A simple but dramatic shift in thinking has cleared the way. Phobias were once thought just the tip of an iceberg. Psychiatrists and psychologists believed that therapy had to be undertaken extremely gently for fear of what might be unleashed. This meant that treatment could involve months looking at words or drawings before moving on to the next stage. Vast patience and stamina were essential to complete such a course and most phobias continued unchecked.
In fact, though successful treatment can have knock-on effects, they are usually positive. Some people’s self-esteem gets such a boost, for instance, when they overcome their fear of flying that it can improve all aspects of their life. One woman was completely distraught when she arrived. But fear of flying was only a fraction of her worries. She fretted about her journey home and what would happen if she was late to pick up her children. She was sure the ensuing chaos would make the family late to bed so they would all sleep in the next morning which would ruin the whole day. A catalogue of disaster stretched ahead. As it happened, she was so relaxed and delighted at her own success that she actually missed her motorway turn-off. Though late, the anticipated chain of events did not occur. Her new laid-back attitude persisted and she said later that the course had changed her life.
So phobias can be taken at face value and their symptoms addressed directly. This approach is standard in medicine. A girl with a bacterial infection normally improves quickly once on antibiotics. Her doctor does not have a philosophical debate about why she was the only child in the class to succumb. If she recovers quickly, the doctor has done a good job. Fear, like bacteria, can be confronted, and long-term inhibitions and preoccupations undermined almost immediately. This is tremendously encouraging for anyone with a phobia today. Treatments work and need not take for ever. The root cause may never be known but often has no bearing on the treatment.
Furthermore, phobias often disappear without trace. People suffering from depression may have to embark on a lifetime’s struggle to keep symptoms at bay. Many ex-smokers or drinkers know that they remain a single lapse away from addiction. Phobias, in contrast, can be wiped out for ever with a single course of treatment.
Some phobias are replaced by a fascination with the thing once so dreaded. People previously afraid of snakes or spiders may keep them as pets. A fear of heights might be replaced by the new hobby of rock-climbing. Diana, whose story is told in chapter 5, once had such severe agoraphobia that she was unable to answer the telephone or open a letter. She now gives presentations about her experience. She will never forget her years with agoraphobia or how much it disrupted her (and her family’s) lives, but she can no longer identify with the fear itself.
This new optimism should not, however, belittle the very real problems that remain unsolved. Phobias often go unheralded, unnoticed and, most importantly, untreated. The largest study ever, the Epidemiologic Catchment Area (ECA) Program in the US, aimed to discover how common various disorders are within the general population. More than 20,000 people in the community were interviewed about fifteen different disorders, among them phobias. Researchers found that fewer than one in four with a phobia had received treatment.
Treatments could be improved. Single-session treatments demand tremendous courage, too much for many. Thousands are helped but most phobics find the very idea of attending unthinkable. They often know about the courses, even acknowledge that they themselves could benefit, but their fear is far too great to allow them to sign up. People with phobias live with levels of unimaginable fear and this fear makes even a single day, which could eradicate their problem, too much to ask. Moreover, many who do attend are helped but not cured. Their terror is reduced but they remain exceptionally nervous. A rare few others are not helped at all.
Progress, though, is accelerating. Advances in psychology, psychiatry, genetics and molecular biology are all converging, improving our understanding of the causes of fear and providing new ways of addressing it. A range of much gentler approaches is now becoming available. Increasingly effective drugs can be used alongside behaviour and talking therapies. The talking therapies themselves are being streamlined to focus on practical improvements, rather than dwelling on childhood traumas. Improved understanding of how phobias develop may help us protect our children from ever developing them. Alternative, more speculative approaches suggest lifestyle changes which may make a difference. Whatever treatment is chosen, phobics can now expect relief from their fear in a limited number of sessions. This improvement has been one of the medical success stories of the decade.
The Hidden Epidemic
So, is that the problem solved? Well, no, not quite. For a start, the scale of the problem is immense. Community studies report that up to two in five of us have a severe dislike of something, and even full-blown phobias are common. Strictly speaking, there is no phobia epidemic, since an epidemic usually refers to an infectious disease that has struck an unusual number. There is no evidence suggesting that there are suddenly more people affected than ever before. But to get a rough idea of the scope, let us just compare the prevalence of phobias with a relatively common infectious disease like influenza.
In the winter of 1999/2000, almost 400 out of every 100,000 in the British population went to their doctor with influenza, which means that it was approaching epidemic levels. The impact on the National Health Service was extreme. Hospital beds were filled with flu patients, so planned operations for cancer and heart disease had to be cancelled, and the NHS was in crisis. And this, at a level of 0.4 per cent.
Official figures are probably an underestimate, as many sensibly managed their illness at home, but even if only one in five consulted their doctor, that would mean the real figure affected was 2 per cent. How does this compare with the numbers affected by phobias?
The ECA study mentioned above found that between 4 and 11 per cent of interviewees had suffered from at least one phobia in the past month. From this, researchers estimated that more than 6 per cent of the population has a phobia at any one time.
We all knew at least a handful of people who were ill with influenza in the winter of 1999/2000. This guestimate suggests that, whether aware of it or not, we probably know three times as many with phobias. These figures give some idea of just how widespread phobias are.
A Few Famous Phobics…
Phobias strike across the board, irrespective of intelligence, beauty or success. Kim Basinger and Sir Isaac Newton both suffered from agoraphobia. Sir Isaac was housebound for years up to 1684, after a period of severe stress. His mother died, a fire destroyed some important papers, he was exhausted after finishing his Principia and he was arguing with Cambridge University. All must have been distressing, but none restricted him as much as the agoraphobia that followed. Kim Basinger developed agoraphobia after the birth of her daughter. In some ways it is harder to imagine agoraphobia in an actress: academics can succeed with limited socialising, whereas actresses are subject to the most intense public scrutiny. But Basinger’s experience of agoraphobia is typical of many women’s. The hormonal and lifestyle changes surrounding childbirth are profound, and not even the most glamorous women are immune. This is explored further in chapter 8, on gender.
Arsenal striker Dennis Bergkamp has had a golden career. He has been voted FIFA’s third best player and the top European. But he is unlikely to get a game in Greece, Turkey or Eastern Europe. For Bergkamp has a clause written into his contract ensuring that his club cannot insist on his flying. While the rest of the team take short flights to matches in the north of England or Europe, Bergkamp sets off by car, coach or train. He has flown in the past, but the last time was to play for Holland in the 1994 World Cup in the US. Since then, he has refused to fly at all and if he cannot get to a match overland, he cannot play. Bergkamp’s fear is common knowledge in football circles but he will not talk about the reasons behind it. He has said that after he finishes playing football he may address his fear, but that for the time being at least, he is grounded.
Hans Christian Andersen was middle-aged by the time he developed his fear of fire, following the death of his old friend Jette Wulff in a blaze aboard the Atlantic steamer Austria. After that, Andersen always carried a rope with him, so that he could escape through a window in case of fire. He never used the rope, but it can still be seen at the Hans Christian Andersen Museum in Denmark. His behaviour was exceptional even at a time when fires were relatively common because contemporary buildings were often wooden. But his fear did not prevent him travelling, it simply added to his luggage. He wrote about fire in at least three stories, ‘The Pixie and the Grocers’, ‘The Tin Soldier’ and ‘The Lovers’, but he never tackled his fear.
He had other, stranger fears. He was afraid of dying, of seeming dead while still alive and of being buried alive. He was also afraid of seeing the dead. These fears were not unusual for the time. The mid nineteenth century was a morbid era and many were fixated with death. At a New Year’s Eve party in 1845, he declared that dead people should mark their presence with tones. But then, both he and his hostess, Jenny Lind, the famous Swedish opera singer, were shocked and frightened when they heard a loud C ring out from an apparently untouched piano. However, he managed to capitalise on his fears. Twelve years later, in To Be Or Not To Be the hero hears a reverberating E and thinks it may be a sign from his dead beloved, Esther. So his fear was not entirely in vain.
…And Some Fictional Ones
Spiders, snakes and rats are convenient symbols for fear or disgust and our screens are littered with them. Film directors rely on our near-universal unease to set a scene within a couple of frames. These are obviously difficult viewing if they are the object of your phobia and chapter 2 explores how far the media might even contribute to some of our fears.
Direct portrayals of phobias are less common but in the film Arachnophobia, Dr Ross Jennings (played by Jeff Daniels) has been intensely afraid of spiders all his life. His first memory is of himself lying near-naked in his cot when a spider crawled through the bars and on to his leg. His limbs froze and he was utterly helpless, unable to stop it moving over his bare skin.
The film climaxes with a replica of this incident. Now adult, Jennings is lying motionless, trapped by fallen rubble: the cellar is starting to catch fire. He watches horrified as a huge Venezuelan spider approaches his foot. This time the spider’s bite would be fatal. It moves up his leg and onto his shirt. Is Jennings paralysed with fear again? Or does he have a plan? With impeccable timing, he waits until the spider climbs over a piece of wood lying across his chest, and then thumps the far end of the plank, catapulting the spider across the room into the fire. He and his country are spared.
George Orwell’s 1984 tackles the subject of specific fears more directly. Winston Smith pales and endures ‘a black instant of panic’ when a rat appears in the secret room he shares with his girlfriend, Julia. Later, when his opposition to the all-pervading Party is discovered, he is sent to the Ministry of Love. He is beaten with fists, truncheons, steel rods and boots. He endures high-voltage electric shocks, is deprived of food and sleep, undergoes hours of questioning and makes numerous confessions, but still he loves Julia. Then he is transported to the notorious Room 101.
Room 101 contains ‘the worst thing in the world’. His captor, O’Brien, tells him: ‘The worst thing in the world varies from individual to individual. It may be burial alive, or death by fire, or by drowning, or by impalement, or fifty other deaths. There are cases where it is some quite trivial thing, not even fatal.’
This sounds rather like phobias. Winston’s Room 101 contains two enormous hungry rats in a cage held close to his face. O’Brien continues:
There are occasions when a human being will stand out against pain, even to the point of death. But for everyone there is something unendurable – something that cannot be contemplated. Courage and cowardice are not involved. If you are falling from a height it is not cowardly to clutch at a rope. If you have come up from deep water it is not cowardly to fill your lungs with air. It is merely an instinct which cannot be destroyed. It is the same with the rats. For you they are unendurable. They are a form of pressure that you cannot withstand, even if you wished to.
O’Brien is right. As the cage is brought so close that ‘the foul musty odour of the brutes struck his nostrils’ and the wire touches Winston’s cheek, he starts shouting frantically: ‘Do it to Julia! Do it to Julia! Not me! Julia! I don’t care what you do to her. Tear her face off, strip her to the bones. Not me! Julia! Not me!’
With this betrayal, Winston’s punishment comes to an abrupt halt, he is released but he is broken. He lives a humdrum existence until the ‘long-hoped-for bullet’ enters his brain.
The torturer’s insights into extreme fear may be more telling than the routine assurances of health professionals. The idea of ‘an instinct which cannot be destroyed’ is untrue, as I will show, but describes how many feel when confronted with the object of their phobia. O’Brien also notes, correctly, that the cause of fear can be trivial and yet unendurable for that individual. He recognises that the fear is so intense that courage and cowardice become irrelevant and says that even people who could endure pain to the point of death will be unable to withstand it. Unlike health professionals, of course, he then goes on to exert just this level of pressure.
Alfred Hitchcock’s Vertigo is another extreme phobic portrayal. Detective Johnny Ferguson (James Stewart) is chasing a criminal across wet rooftops. He slips and is dangling over an edge, clinging on by his fingertips. A colleague above leans down to him and offers a hand, but Ferguson is dizzy and unable to take it. The colleague loses his balance and falls to his death below.
This is Ferguson’s first inkling of his vertigo and he quits his job with the police force. ‘There’s no losing it,’ Ferguson is assured by his friend, Midge, who says that only another emotional shock will cure him. Rejecting this, he tries out some homespun behaviour therapy of his own, standing first on a stool and looking up and down. All is going well so he tries some higher steps. Unfortunately, he glimpses the street below out of the window and promptly faints. Thus his treatment ends. His vertigo is then assumed so permanent that others can base a murder plot on the certainty that he will not make it to the top of a tower at a crucial moment.
The three very different stories all successfully convey the extent of phobic fear and the individual cost. Ross Jennings, a highly respected doctor, has spent his life dreading spiders and relying on others to kill or remove them. Winston Smith betrays his girlfriend and, in the end, himself, through his fear of rats. Johnny Ferguson gives up a long-held ambition to become Chief of Police when he quits his job and, worse, is unable to save the life of the woman he loves because of his vertigo.
All three carry the fatalistic and depressing message that phobias are as much a part of us as our height or eye colour. It chimes with and may even have shaped the widespread perception that phobias are for life. Sadly, this is often true as we accept limitations on our lives far too readily and only a small proportion of phobias ever receive treatment. But, as this book sets out to show, phobias can be and are being cracked.
From Antophobia to Zoophobia
So what do we develop phobias of? In short: anything. The National Phobics Society has a list of over 250 phobias, and it is not exhaustive. Some, like arachnophobia (fear of spiders) and claustrophobia (fear of enclosed spaces) are familiar; others less so. We may not know anyone with taphophobia (fear of being buried alive), antophobia (flowers), genuphobia (knees), metrophobia (poetry) or zoophobia (animals), but all these do exist.
Phobias are truly international, crossing the boundaries of language and culture. A study within the mainly Hispanic population of Puerto Rico relied on translated questions asked in the ECA. It found 12 per cent of people had phobias at some stage in their lives, a figure on the same range as mainland North America.
Studying phobias across cultures is more difficult: they were, for instance, once thought almost non-existent in sub-Saharan Africa. More recent work suggests that phobias are as common, just less obvious than in the West. Africans are likely to develop physical complaints as a result of fear and this can mask the underlying phobia. They also fear different things. Witchcraft, sorcery and supernatural phenomena are still important among peoples such as the Yoruba in Nigeria. Within Yoruba communities, people with no psychological problems routinely believe that others (who appear harmless) may be plotting against them. They cannot talk about specific concerns for fear of the sorcerer’s retaliation. Nigerian research had to rely on drug-assisted interviews to break down some of this reluctance and found that at least 20 per cent of outpatients at psychiatric units were definitely phobic.
In the US, the ECA study estimated that between 1.5 and 12.5 per cent of the population has agoraphobia at some stage of their lives. Agoraphobia – literally, fear of the market place – usually translates to a fear of being away from home or a safe place. Using public transport, going to shopping centres or any crowded area is often out of the question. People with agoraphobia may become housebound, unable to work or have any sort of social life. Some are so anxious that they need someone with them constantly, even at home, which places a huge burden of responsibility on family and friends. The entire family set-up frequently revolves around the agoraphobia.
Agoraphobia is defined as a complex phobia because it is often interlinked with generalised anxiety and fear. Most sufferers are women. It typically starts after the late teenage years and before the mid thirties, but can linger for years, even decades. Arguably the most debilitating of all phobias, it can touch every aspect of life.
Social phobia, another complex, all-pervading fear, was found by Swedish researchers to affect between 2 and 20 per cent at any one time, depending on the precise definition. It is a fear of being scrutinised by other people and embarrassed. Social situations, any sort of public performance, even eating or drinking out, may be impossible. For some, anxiety is limited to a single situation such as being unable to write in front of others – tricky when most of us rely on credit cards – being unable to speak in public or urinate in public toilets. Well-defined social phobias like these may have an important but relatively limited impact on someone’s life. However, like agoraphobia, social phobia can often have far-reaching effects.
Social phobia is more evenly distributed between the sexes and, if anything, more men than women are affected. It often develops from childhood shyness, becoming full-blown in adolescence, just as young people are starting to establish their own social lives. Parties, eating out and shared activities are a misery for those with social phobia. Dating can be a nightmare. Solitary leisure pursuits and a career that avoids any sort of public speaking are possible, but most families and jobs demand some level of socialising. Some manage to endure situations they dread, but their social anxiety effectively quashes all enjoyment.
This phobia takes varying forms in different cultures. In Japan and Korea, people with social phobia do not worry about being embarrassed, but are more likely to be excessively afraid that they will offend others, either through body odour, blushing or eye contact.
Specific phobias, considered the least serious group of phobias, are more easily pinpointed and sufferers can say exactly what they are afraid of. Specific phobias often start in childhood and last a lifetime. They include fears of animals or insects, or of something in the natural environment such as storms, heights or water. Fear of blood, injections and injury come into this group, as do fears of specific situations such as tunnels, bridges or lifts. The same New York researchers estimated that one in ten of us has a specific phobia at some stage.
Specific phobias give flashes of extreme anxiety in set circumstances. They tend not to dominate lives as phobics may only need to avoid well-defined situations, such as lifts carrying more than six people beyond the tenth floor. But while phobias of buttons, wallpaper or cotton wool can sound trivial, bizarre or even funny, such fears can still affect career decisions or cast shadows over family life. A driver with arachnophobia could swerve dangerously if a spider appeared on his dashboard. Women with blood and injury phobias may decide not to have children because they cannot bear the thought of giving birth. Less dramatically, a fear of dogs can put a stop to picnics, and a fear of tunnels or bridges can make travelling extremely complicated.
Phobias fit into neat categories on paper, but in practice overlap and are difficult to distinguish. Someone who never goes out is probably agoraphobic, but may have social phobia if they avoid only social situations and fear being embarrassed in front of others. Someone terrified of buses or trains might have agoraphobia, but if they fear public transport and nothing else, it would be considered a specific phobia. Specific phobias exist of, say, dirty cutlery in restaurants, but someone who obsesses about dirt and has developed time-consuming cleaning rituals has an obsessive-compulsive disorder.
A single phobia such as fear of flying can have many roots and people on ‘Fly with Confidence’ courses tend to have mixed problems. Some are claustrophobic, some scared of heights; others are afraid of dying and convinced that flying is unsafe. The organisers estimate that a third of the attendees have never flown before but are terrified of the very idea. They are the easiest to treat, and some, like John, hardly need to get both feet inside the plane to feel better. Part of his fear was based on the assumption that planes are very cramped: one look was enough to disprove it. Another third have flown happily for years before having a bad experience which precipitated their phobia, either a physical event such as extreme turbulence, or a personal crisis which happened to coincide with a flight. The final third might still be flying regularly but feeling progressively worse about it. Their fear is likely to be part of a complex phobia – agoraphobia or social phobia – and they are the hardest to treat. They have seen inside planes, they know the statistics of aeroplane crashes, but no amount of information will help. Their fear is inside – they fear their own reactions, afraid of having a panic attack, terrified by the total lack of an escape route. They are sure that they will be the one running up and down the aisle, hammering at the door, screaming, ‘Don’t panic! Don’t panic!’ For these people, a quick-fix solution is unlikely to be all that is needed.
Clinical classification of phobias is important because of the seriousness of the complex phobias. Agoraphobia and social phobia routinely lead to missed opportunities in life but are also likely to be associated with other disorders. People with social phobia are more than twice as likely to have problems with alcohol as non-phobics. Agoraphobics too are at an increased risk of alcoholism. Agoraphobia is also linked with some unfortunate personality measures such as dependency, unassertiveness and a lack of self-confidence as well as anxiety and avoidant behaviour. American research suggests that one in five with panic disorder, which is often associated with agoraphobia, attempt suicide. This is more even than people with major depression and twenty times the normal rate.
The tragedy is that phobias can be helped today but usually are not. Many different effective treatments exist but people continue to suffer. Phobias do have a stigma and it can be difficult to admit to a fear which you know, rationally, is out of proportion with reality. Why someone with a fear of heights should be more afraid of ridicule than someone with a broken arm or with high blood pressure is hard to say, though mental disorders traditionally have attracted less sympathy than physical ones.
Commercial one-day courses addressing fear of flying or spiders have the advantage of being based, respectively, at an airport or a zoo. Many find it easier to turn up there rather than at the local psychiatric unit and these courses have proved acceptable to those who might never seek help elsewhere. It seems likely, though, that their greatest appeal is among those whose phobias are least severe. In fact, drawing a line between normal fear and phobia is far from straightforward. Many, if pushed, would admit to disliking and fearing heights or spiders but do not have a phobia as this feeling causes no distress or infringement on their lives. A speaker at a recent meeting of the American Psychiatric Association pointed out that if she was not nervous about speaking to a room full of her most discerning peers, they might reasonably assume she was pathologically narcissistic. Some anxiety is not only inevitable in such a situation, it is probably good, prompting her to prepare her talk properly and deliver it well. If, however, she was so anxious about speaking that she refused to give lectures, or changed her job to avoid it, a diagnosis of social phobia would be appropriate.
Up in the Clouds
On the ‘Fly with Confidence’ course, comradeship built up through the morning as people derived comfort from each other’s questions and shared fear. The group started to bond. But as the day wore on they became more subdued, less friendly, some even angry at how ill-prepared they felt to climb aboard. People kept looking at their watches in alarm at how quickly the flight was approaching. During a desensitisation exercise, they were asked to imagine various scenes, such as checking in, waiting to board, climbing the steps to the plane. After each scene they were to return to deep relaxation. ‘Impossible,’ muttered the man on my right.
Despite such misgivings, all but one or two got on the plane and their relief was unmistakable. However, this was not universal. Across the aisle, a pale young man sat with his eyes closed, his head against the headrest. He was probably trying out newly learned relaxation exercises but he could have been praying. Helpful stewards provided numerous glasses of water, eliciting wan smiles, but did not make him much more comfortable. Occasionally he would open his eyes, look round, run his fingers through his hair and exchange a word with his neighbour. Then it was back to his private hell.
The man beside me seemed coolly confident, but confided that it was only OK because we were flying British Airways. The woman on the other side looked close to tears but chatted incessantly. ‘I must be all right because I’m talking,’ she said. ‘If I was really bad I would be in a corner taking no notice of anyone.’
People are recovering in their thousands through courses like this, but the process is demanding. The pale young man only slowly regained his colour and back in the terminal he was still, inexplicably, clutching his untouched airline meal.
CHAPTER 1 History (#ulink_00f20e0b-99a3-596b-9e0b-18028492d6dc)
In the Beginning
