OK, so you knew there had to be a name for it, right? The name for what I have is "Entamaphobia", which is, according to www.fearof.net this: "Entamaphobia or the fear of doors is a debilitating phobia often associated with Agoraphobia and Claustrophobia. The word Entamaphobia is derived from a combination of Greek words 'Eisodos and portos' for entrance or entryway and 'phobos' which is the Greek God of fear." Except, I don't have a fear of the door itself, but what may or may not be hiding behind it. It's not EVERY door that freaks me out either, no, just those little short doors that you see in houses sometimes. I think people feel that they need or want access to an area behind the stairs or in the eaves where it's too short for a person to walk into but they could bend over and get something out of a storage area; maybe Christmas decorations, blankets, or something else. I don't know, but the little doors just do something to my psyche. They start the Myelin sheaths of my wee brain to burst into flames with incredible fury.
Since it's Halloween I figured a creepy little story would be in order. My Granny had a gorilla living in her closet, and he didn't freak me out. I mean, I never actually saw him, but she said he was there, and he would eat us if we went into said closet, so of course, not one of us cousins ever ventured into it. I'm not saying that I didn't peek because I did. He may have been out for the afternoon on the day I decided to test Granny, I don't know, but I'm still here, and he has probably passed on since gorillas don't live to be too terribly much older than however long it's been since I've tested the rumor. Gramma said it, I believed it, and that settled it. Gramma also told me that Santa was real and if I ever said he wasn't she would never bake another cookie. You know I still believe! (Ain't much better in this world than warm loving for the kitchen.)
So small doors and me are a no-go. I look at houses I think I want to buy and if they have a tiny door in the hall or up near an eave, I find an excuse to move on to the next house. I don't bother opening up the door to see if houses insulation, books, maybe pickled olives, I just walk out the front door with the realtor lagging behind me still checking off boxes on her clipboard and telling me how nice the kitchen suite is. She's never been one to worry or bother herself with petty phobia. She makes suggestions like "We can take the damn door off Jude; no one is coming out of the eave to kill you when you're sleeping!" How would she know? She's never ONCE slept in my house when tiny people make their way through their tiny portals. She has no standing to make those claims. I've seen The Borrowers. I know it's possible.
I'm not saying that having a genuine phobia is wrong; but what I have is certainly not logical and it's not feasible if I'm thinking of getting a two-story house someday. If I do find one I like and there happens to be an elf-hole I'll likely just do what April suggested, and take the damn door off of it - - maybe box it in and create a little shelf to hold something cute that I'm not oddly taken back by and I can call it mine. Maybe I'll even leave the door there and post a little welcome sign on it, but when someone does open the door, they only see a BRICK WALL where I sealed up the creature(s) and I've gone all Cask of Amontillado on the would-be murderers! You just don't know me if you think I won't do that. I can use a trowel.
We all have our oddities and our quirks, don't we? Some of us have sound pertinent phobias and/or aversions. Some of us create needless anxiety for ourselves with misunderstood tiny entrance ways that purposely have no malice but are actually designed to assist. Be that as it may, the doors are weird, they creep me out, and no, I don't have to explain myself. It's my brain that has the problem, not me! I personally, don't mind the doors but I can't convince the intellectual folds of my head's fleshy tenant that there is nothing harmful or dubious about these tiny hatches. They are simply there to taunt me. I know this to be fact.
Think of what gets under your skin and ask yourself what you could, would, or should do about it -- I know I do. I try every now and then to find one so I can face it and tell it I'm not afraid of it, but then I laugh at the very thought of having done so. I mean really, it's not going to answer me, it's not going to reach out and pat me on the back and say "That's OK, you don't scare me either". Or is it?
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