Showing posts with label phobias. Show all posts
Showing posts with label phobias. Show all posts

Monday, October 22, 2012

Trifecta: Dark Shadows

I had no idea before today what I was (am?).

I was (am?) most probably a scelerophobic (a bad guy fear).

Living on a quiet, tree-lined street in a suburb with little crime, no one locked doors. Windows had screens to allow the breeze.


Dark Shadows haunted me at 4:00 (I hid) after Gilligan’s Island. 

Dragnet, at night, always began “the story you are about to hear is true…” inevitably including legit America’s Most Wanted”s. It didn’t matter, to me, where they were last seen. I was FREAKED!

Convinced sinister men from posters, armed and dangerous of course, or whatever, would find me in a sleepy suburb and…

My mind never went further. Imagining them in my room was enough.

So it began in a bedroom with too many hiding spots. Full sweeps every night; under the bed, swiping a foot over the closet floor; arms swinging through clothing. Even on sweltering nights, window latches were triple checked. Shades drawn at sunset.

Door locked; the trashcan against it to warn me in case I didn’t hear the lock picked. I thought about booby-traps while praying.

For Everything.

For Safety.

For a Storm.

Bad guys didn't visit during storms.

Against better judgment I saw movies like “Texas Chainsaw Massacre”, “Amityville Horror” and “Are You Afraid of the Dark?” with my boyfriend so we could snuggle. I paid dearly for years.

Hardly sleeping...

Was it because Dad traveled incessantly leaving only mom home with us? What could she really do?

College provided respite with ROOMMATES and…

SLEEP!

On my own, it sort of started again (okay, it did). My first studio-apartment proved easy to sweep (closet and shower) before turning triple deadbolts Dad installed. Place two, a one-bedroom, took more time.

Thereafter, I had roommates.

Now, if I’m sleeping completely alone?

Bedroom locked, pepper spray handy and 80 lbs. of fierceness between me, Barnabas Collins and “poster” guy, even though there’s absolutely no crime on this tree-lined street.

Old habits die hard…

For chicken shits!

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33-333 words for the third definition of sinister:

3. singularly evil or productive of evil