*When I replace a lightbulb, I am fearful that while screwing in the bulb, it will spark and pop in my hand, my upturned face.
So when I change the lightbulb in the hall or bathroom, I turn my face away while turning the new bulb. My pulse speeds up and I almost get clammy.
*I don't like beds that are on frames. There's just too much space between the floor and the mattress. As a child, I would run from the doorway and leap onto the bed from as far away as possible. Nothing is under there. Too much nothingness is the problem.
*While driving on a road with guardrails, I imagine the wheel jerking to the side. My truck veers and crashed through the rail, and I am plunging to whatever lies below. (Usually a steep hillside and lots of trees, maybe a small creek) Then I try to imagine how I would feel and what my reaction would be if this actually happened, and I can't, so I think about something else.
*I can't pee in the dark without thinking about rats/spiders/whatever in the toilet, and being bitten in an awkwardly painful spot. The light stays on.