From an age that I could remember until about 12 years old I was deathly afraid of the night.
At some point during the night I would plan my escape out of my room and race as fast as my little legs would carry me, to my parents bedroom. I would slowly and silently slide right beside my mom on the edge of the bed and steal a bit of covers. At the time they had a water bed and I would hang on to the side for dear life when either of my parents rolled over!
As I got older and mom and dad thought it was a bit inappropriate, I would sleep on the floor beside my mom or at the end of the bed between their feet. I would turn myself into a little tiny ball and pray that whatever I thought was going to get me would wake up my parents first and they would kill it. If I stayed in my room I thought of ways to kill an intruder and mentally I would hear all these serial killer noises. No, it was not rationale but I will blame it on my older cousins. They used to tell me really bad monsters lived under the bed and would grab me if my feet hit the floor. I would jump from my bed to the door at night and vice versa. They sucked!!! LOL
I was like 5! No wonder I had an issue. It really did become a problem because it gave me much grief and I would lay awake for hours listening for a monster. I would look to see where my baseball bat was and what my strategy would be if I had to fight for my life. I couldn’t wait for the sun to rise and shut down the murderers and boogeymen. Some nights it still haunts me a little bit. Psychologically speaking, after much thought, maybe it was my way of not facing my newly diagnosed disease of Cystic Fibrosis. Perhaps it manifested in my little brain like an enemy or intruder. Physically speaking it was an intruder, an intruder in my body.
Funny story: As I got older my parents thought it was a bit ridiculous so I would try to contain my fear and stay in my bed all night, but one night the noises were real. I could hear these scuffling noises downstairs in my dads office. I was sure of it and once I was absolutely sure and frozen in fear I yelled for my Dad. He woke up, grumpily I might add, and went downstairs to check for me. Well the jokes on him, there was an intruder, it was my friend Trina’s cat, Socks, who got in through the window and couldn’t get out. Ha, see Dad I saved us all from being killed by a vicious cat.
My other fear was going down into basements that were just dirt, with no walls and just creepy with minimal lighting. My Granni and Poppa lived in a very old house and it had one of those basements and if I had to go down to get something I would run down as fast as possible and run up like I’m being chased by the devil! I, again, would work myself up. When I got older and spent the nights over there I was beyond terrified to be left alone in the house. *Gak* In fact I likened their house to the one in the based on a true story, Amityville Horror movie. I thought for always, that it was haunted. It creeped me out.
This brings me to the issue, what were my parents thinking, letting me watch horror movies??? To this day I cannot watch them. I loved them at age 11 but they wrecked me.
To take this one step further, in my early teens, me and my friends decided to get a OUIJA board and summon the dead…in the dark…on a gravesite…at the Saskatchewan Hospital AKA a mental institution for the criminally insane. It was the thing horror movies were made about. My teen years were filled with fearing the devil, Freddy Kruger, other worldly demons and Jason! Ugh!
Now as an adult I love to sleep in a very dark cave like room with a weapon placed strategically somewhere and in my mind I have a strategy of escaping an intruder. I feel like California will let me know when I need to jump into action.
Well there you have it, my childhood fears. Feel free to share yours…
“Get busy livin’ or get busy dyin'”