While slightly ridiculous, my fear of dancing stems from a previously life-altering experience I had in back in the days of yesteryear. In my junior high days I reluctantly attended my school's yearly themed end of the year. As it was back then, I was already nervous as it is about dancing publicly, as at that point I hadn't yet had the opportunity to truly perfect the routine of moves I'd been working on in my garage prior to this day. As the party starts to get liven up, and everyone begins shifting their attention to the dance floor, I figured this was the time to make my grand entrance. I drop my denim jacket on the ground, and literally the jacket falls to the ground in slow motion, and the sound upon contact with the floor sounds like rounds of a 12 gauge shotgun had just been fired off in a small summer cottage full of illegal Cambodian refuges, and the entire room shifts their attention to me. In my head I'm thinking "It's fuckin' go time!"
Now, I make my way toward the dance floor and everything is going great up until this point; I'm nailing everything I'd been working on perfectly. Now this is where it takes a sharp decline. I'm not sure if it was the adrenaline or the roar of the crowd in complete harmony with the beautiful rhythm I'm making with my feet, but I attempted to go for this move I'd practiced a few times in my garage sessions but never really executed correctly, and gave up on just because of how dangerous it was. What was "SUPPOSED" to happen was a spread my appendages out in the air and catch myself within mere seconds of making contact with the ground and then proceed to do a 360 spin with only the body support of my toes and fingers; What actually happened was not so pretty.
I jump, spread my arms and legs, and at this point I'm totally feeling like this is my time. as I'm coming down, I noticed something out of the corner of my eye which distracts me, and I end up coming down with my tongue out and landing square on my chin, causing me to bite down on my tongue. What happened was I bit through about 60% of my tongue, and blood is squirting everywhere, causing the entire room to go into a panic. I'm screaming my head off and shooting blood and saliva around the room while watching my severed tongue flop around the room, all the while watching in horror as a room full of prepubescent teenagers are screaming, crying, and vomiting profusely, and all the administration is watching this entire event take place in pure horror. Don't ask me how,but at one point in the evacuation process, someone spilled a half empty can of sprite on an open electrical outlet, which cased a small fire to break out. I eventually caught the tongue and tried to tape it back together, but to no avail.
I now have half my tongue missing, and my verbal communication skills are only comparable to actually trying to decipher said by Donald Duck. I also haven't danced since that day, and am in the process of working the bouts of Post Traumatic Stress I incurred from the aftermath of that incident. Fuck dancing; It ruined my life.
I still get very selfconcious when doing some types of dance my body is just not designed to do 
(i.e. I always felt that all African dances I tried would require my body to be twice the size it is if I was to do them properly)
Never seems to get boring.
Generally though the adrenaline seems to be directed towards recreating the music itself, not expressing it physically. Oh god, I just realised I'm probably one of those people passionately conducting along to the opera. 
) and through that appraisal by and interaction with others. It's Fe, and we're anti. 
