Prologue

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Prologue

CONCERNED TEENS AND PARENTS

DO YOU OR YOUR CHILD HAVE AN ANXIETY DISORDER, SUCH AS ARACHNOPHOBIA OR ACRAPHOBIA? THEY ARE ALL VERY DIFFERENT, AND THEY ARE ALL VERY FIXABLE. HERE AT THE ANXIETY DISORDER HELP PROGRAM (ADHP), WE AIM TO HELP ALL DISTURBED PEOPLE.

Please write a letter to the address below, but get to the point as we receive hundreds of letters.  We will accept phone calls on May 28th from noon until 8:00 PM; you may call then to see if you have been accepted into the program. Only six teenagers will be accepted, and they will be with us for ten weeks.

Anxiety Disorder Help Program,

My son Dylan is Dyslexic. This is not an anxiety disorder or a phobia, but he is afraid of failing classes and not fitting in. Because of this, he also has Schizoid Personality Disorder, in that he wishes to be solitary. He's a misfit for your program, but if you'll find some room in your summer camp, I would greatly appreciate your help.

Yours truly,

Angela Monitor

Anxiety Disorder Help Program,

My daughter, Leslie, is afraid of places where she cannot...escape, per say. I believe this is called agoraphobia. I never had any phobias, so I haven't a clue as to how to help. I pray you'll be able to.

Graciela Vinemont

ADHP,

Hi. My name is Thomas. I have chirotophobia, the fear of bats. I feel like this shouldn't affect my life every day, but it does. I see bats in every corner. They haunt my dreams. My mom doesn't know I'm writing you. HELP ME.

Thomas Jacob

Anxiety Disorder Help Program,

Hello. My daughter, Brandi, has an irrational fear of starvation. She carries food wherever she goes and eats constantly. Though she snacks nonstop throughout the day, she takes second and third helpings at meals. I cannot afford anymore to supply her with all this. Please help me.

Thank you,

Mary Barklee

ADHP,

Hello and thank you for taking time out of your busy schedule to consider my son for your camp. My son, John, is very claustrophobic. I won't expand on this, as I'm sure you all are the experts. Thank you again.

Lisa Baker

"Phoo," sighed Michael, throwing down the letters, all the same, all polite, Anxiety Disorder, phobia, help, help, help. The letters did nothing to flatter him in any way with the experts and the endless stream of thank-yous. The letters and their authors did absolutely nothing but insult him. Was this his life? The letters begged. All they did was beg. Help me! No, help me! He stood and paced his office in frustration. He threw unpaid bills across the room and they scattered across the carpeted floor. His father had made this business successful, helping with phobias and anxiety disorders, then retired and left the whole corporation in Michael's unsteady hands.

"One more summer. One more summer, and you can sell this place and get a job," he told himself each year. This time he really meant it. He hated the camp, but it was his father's dream. He soon talked himself out of his frustration and eased tensely back into his expensive red leather office chair. He leaned back and closed his eyes, remembering the days when he himself had a phobia. He'd had nyctophobia, a fear of the dark. That had been his first interest in his father's business, whenever his father cured his phobia. Sometimes, though, if it was dark enough, he would still get flashes of his fear.

The camp that Michael owned now was very prestigious, and many came from all around to send their juveniles to rid them of fear. Michael had received hundreds of letters already, but because of one letter, he did not opened hundreds, and did not sell the camp. He started back to work, slicing open five letters at a time, then sliding them out and reading them one at a time. He slit the first five envelopes, then blurred his eyes, not really reading the letters. But on the fifth letter, one word, right in the middle of the page, made him fall backwards in his chair.

NYCTOPHOBIA

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