Last night I got "the fear" again. I am really not sure of what to call it other than that, and to be honest, I am really close to being embarrassed that I even have it at all. Except that I know it sounds crazy, but I also know that in my head it is real. People base whole religions, beliefs, and convictions on things they have never seen. People start wars based on gut instincts that they blame on supernatural beings. So, just keep in mind if you're reading this, I know it sounds dumb, but it's as real to me as your Jesus or your Buddha or your ghosts are to you.
What I refer to as "the fear" has been going on for about as long as I can remember. It almost always happens at night, but there have been more than a handful occasions that it has come around during daytime. For some reason, those times are the worst. It's not a fear of ghosts or kidnapping or fires or rapists or anything like that (although I do have moments of being scared of those things, too). I just remember being a tiny child and sharing a bed with my younger sister. I remember being pulled out of bed and trying to grab hold of her to wake her up, but I couldn't. After that, I remember nothing until I woke up for school, scared to death. For years and years after that, I made sure to sleep with some part of my leg, hand, or even my foot touching my sister. I'm sure this annoyed the hell out of her, especially in the hot summers, but I felt safer, like if anything was going to pull me out of bed, I would wake her up in the process. In retrospect, I'm really not sure what I thought she could do to protect me. I went so many nights without sleeping, worrying that it would happen again. And it didn't. It was a dream. But this dream or vision of being pulled from bed wasn't "the fear". That was something else.
When "the fear" came I would lie in bed, frozen, trying not to move when I breathed, willing myself to hold my eyes closed tight and pretending to sleep for hours while something stood at the end of our bed. It watched. That's all it did. It just watched. That was the most disturbing part. I never looked down at the end of that bed. Never. For him to see me move, to know that I had acknowledged his presence- I'm not sure what would have happened, but I was certain that it would involve stealing me from my bed again. Look... some kids had imaginary monsters in their closets or evil shadow people under their bed. I had tall, grey men that stood and watched. I don't dare use the "a" word, as it seems cliche and silly and doesn't strike the fear and foreignness of my reality. But yeah, that's what I always assumed it was. And the feeling of being completely alone and the absence of God or anything good... that's part of its presence. That is what it feels like when he's there.
I slept in bed with my sister for years after it was probably considered normal. And to be fair, it wasn't every night that I felt so scared that I was paralyzed. But on those nights... when he was there... nothing could save me. No praying I did made him leave. No wishing made him stop. He just appeared without warning, without any sort of pattern, and he watched. It doesn't happen very often anymore. I can go years without feeling that fear crawl up my spine into the back of my head. But I got it last night. And it's just as real as it always was.
On a side note, as a little bit of support to the fact that I am NOT completely off my rocker, I will admit that there are giant facts I left out of this entry. Chunks of things that I will probably not mention to just anyone. But I did share them with a couple of people who grew up in different states than I did, with different upbringings than my own, who had the exact same experiences that I did. All the stories match up. So whatever it is that is wrong with us, it's all the same thing.
