Most fears come from traumatic experiences, or painful
memories that live inside your head forever. Mine, however, doesn’t. My fear is
just there sitting inside my head. This fear is burglars. I fear the people and
the act of burglary. This fear wakes me up at night and looms over my head. I’m
scared that I will wake up one night to someone lurking over my bed waiting to
kill me. I know this is gruesome and disturbing, but I cannot erase this image
from my head.
This fear overtakes my life every single day and makes me do
things I am not proud of. I do not fear people coming into steal my things or
damage our property. I fear for the safety and well-being of my family. At
night sometimes my mind wanders to unpleasant thoughts, and I have to force
myself to think of calming things such as beaches, my friends, and cupcakes.
Often I psyche myself out by “hearing” noises around my house. Creaks and
moans, thumps and bumps that really turn out to be nothing but make me spend an
extra five minutes calming myself down. I know that this is not normal for kids
my age; some might even say it is a childish fear, but so far 18 years has not
been enough time for me to conquer this fear.
Though I am embarrassed to admit this fear, I am even more
embarrassed to share how this fear has made its way into my daily life.
Sometimes at night I jolt awake in the middle of a deep slumber and have to
walk downstairs to make sure the front door is locked. Every time I walk into
the bathroom, I have to check behind the shower curtain to make sure no one is
hiding behind it. I check under my bed before I crawl in it at night, and I
must, no if ands or buts, sleep with my closet doors open. These are places I
have scoped out to be good hide-outs for burglars. I try to put myself in their
shoes and think, if I were in this house
where would I hide? Though I have not yet decided what I would if I
actually found somebody hiding in one of these places. I have thought long and
hard, but in the heat of the moment I would probably end up just screaming and running
as fast as I could to God knows where. I am not proud that I have to do these
daily “rituals”, if you would. They take over my life, and I hope one day I can
find a way to cure my problems. I have no excuse, no explanation, and no story
that goes along with this fear. It is just there, and I have to live it with.