It is hot in my apartment. We have a nice air conditioner in the living room, but it doesn't quite make it all the way to the bedroom. We can't put an air conditioner in the bedroom because the only window leads out to the fire escape. Apparently, it is illegal to block a fire escape with an air conditioner in the window. This makes sense. At first, Sujan and I were thinking of breaking the law and installing it anyway, but we decided against it.
And I'm glad. Not because it wouldn't be nicer with an AC, but because I'm a big baby. There is a gate covering the window left over from the previous tenants who have two children. We could have the gate removed, but it makes me feel secure. I have enough anxieties already so why not feel secure in my bedroom? If we took that gate off and installed an air conditioner, that would make it that much easier for a bad man to climb into my bedroom while I sleep. I'm not crazy! In fact, I know of a person who was in her apartment in Baltimore when a robber/ crackhead tried to break into her apartment from the fire escape. No thanks.
Am I afraid of things because I've seen so many scary films or do I enjoy scary films because they really touch a nerve? As afraid of airplane crashes as I am, I can't get enough of that first scence in "Final Destination" or the plane crash in "Alive."
I'm much better than I used to be. When I was a little kid (4 or 5 years old), I had so many fears that I insisted that my parents stay in the guest room right next to my room until I feel asleep. If they tried to sneak downstairs when I was still awake, I'd become quite angry. I was probably 7 or 8 before I was comfortable enough to turn off the lights when I went to bed.
Things got a little better, but I remember there were two movies I saw around third grade that freaked the shit out of me to the point where I completely regressed- "American Werewolf in London" and "The Island." "Werewolf" has a dream sequence where a nice suburban family answers the doorbell and gets decimated by armed intruders with machine guns. In "The Island" a psycho sticks needles into children's eyes for some reason that I can not remember. Both of these films really tapped into my fears. I was terrified of being murdered by crazy intruders in my house.
It got worse in fifth grade. I was old enough to come home alone after school and not have to go to daycare or to a babysitter's house. I was so happy because now I could come home and watch "GI Joe" and "He-Man" in peace. But over half the time, I would hear some phantom noise and become convinced that there was a crazy person hiding upstairs who was about to come kill me. Many times (come rain, shine, or sleet) I would go outside with my homework, sit in the front yard, and wait for one of my parents to get home. The neighbors started asking questions and I would explain that I was locked out. Locked out twice a week?
My mom thought that I could be cured with some therapy. So off I went. It was fine for awhile, but the thing that I best remember from these sessions is that the therapist lent me a sharp letter opener to keep under my bed to ward off an attacker if I needed it. This really made me feel better. I put it alongside the baseball bat that I already had at the ready.
Other than the few months that "Psycho" set me back, I did get gradually better as the years went on. I grew up and I guess enough times of thinking that I was about to get murdered didn't pan out so I relaxed. I don't know.
But my fears flare up occasionally in odd ways. However, in the past few years it tends to usually be more based in the fear of the supernatural or other strangeness. There are a few instances off the top of my head and they all involve me in a semi-conscious state.
In Thailand, a few years ago, as I slept in a wood cabin on the floor in the middle of nowhere I thought I was being attacked by spirits.
And my favorite- a few years ago, I thought Marc's pager (which kept going off in the vibrate mode on his dresser which made for a super strange noise damnit!) was an alien or some shit like that. Someone must have been paging him over and over (Balgavy, we need that print of "Chocolat" to LA by tomorrow at 9 am!) and I thought the apt. was being attacked a la "V".
I did what any sensible person would do, I garnered the courage to leave the safety of my room (I'm not sure what I had in my hand to use for a weapon, my Cal Ripken autographed ball perhaps?) and check it out. In this scenario, is it better to be really quiet and hope to sneak up on the alien life form/ armed intruder or is it better to jump out quickly to scare it/him? I chose the surprise attack. Whew, no one there.
I went straight to the phone to page Marc. I'm not sure why, other than to perhaps ask him when he was going to be home so he could protect me? When his pager went off again, I probably jumped three feet in the air. I was terrified for about four seconds until I realized what the strange noise was. How fucking foolish could I be?
So other than my fear of people coming in through fire escapes, my daily fear of a catastrophic terroist attack, being absolutely convinced every time I get in a car as a passenger that my face is destined for the windshield, and my extreme paranoia of dying in a plane crash, I think I'm fairly well balanced these days. Right? How the hell have I made it this far?
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12 comments:
what a baby...
Wow!
Who would have thunk it
The taking of Pelham 1 2 3 was my paranoia movie
Amazing how movies can have such an effect on a person. I think it's movies about terrorism or trainjacking or killer dentist that are scariest because they can happen. But movies about camp nerds who retaliate and never die or aliens aren't so scary because they can't happen. right?
I distinctly remember when this fear of bad men climbing into your windows started and it was all my fault. We were shopping in Wheaton Plaza and you kept trying to run away to play in the openair mall. You begged to sit on the bright orange chairs and wait for me while I shopped. In my attempt to control you and to be honest at the same time, I relayed the horrifyingly true story of the Lyons sisters who went to have pizza at the mall on a day off from school. The last time they were seen , they were sitting on those same orange chairs. To this day, nobody knows where they are. Well, that really impressed you and you were very compliant for the rest of the shopping trip. That night was the first night that you got hysterical about going to bed without us being with you. On reflection, I think there was no need to be so graphic. I should have sugarcoated things and been the kind of parent who told you that our dead cat went to the farm to live. playing with all of his cat friends and chasing mice. Really, I am so sorry that I created this deepseated fear of the boogymen into my adored and adorable young son. I am so distressed to hear that the fear has only festered and grown and matured with you
By the way, do you remember when Ellen Garson was appalled to see you and Lisa sitting on our roof when I wasn't home., I think you were in 4th grade. I guess you felt safe up there out of reach of the bad men.
And while I'm feeling guilty - how is it that you saw so many scary movies. especially knowing your fragile psyche?
I posted a long message about 15 minutes ago and it has yet to appear. What's up with that? All my words must be floating around somewhere in cyberspace. Now that is really something to ponder and fear!
Bloody Hell!
What with your various paranoias and my mediaeval level of superstition regarding all things everywhere it's a wonder we make it through the working week. I can only recoil in mock horror at the effect we have on our delightful yet well heeled third grade charges!
Wow, Dan, this is the best entry ever. Your mom's response is also a classic. I can relate very well to some of your fears and apparent insanity.
When I lived in Massachusetts (age 0 to 9) my bedroom was on the second floor next to my parents' room, and the windows faced the back yard. When I was about 6 or 7, I dreamed that a man dressed all in black climbed a ladder, jumped into my room through the window, dropped a piece of paper (or maybe an envelope) on the floor and then went back out. I screamed "AAAAAAAAAH!" and woke myself and everyone else up. My parents gave me the standard "It was just a dream" and I went back to sleep. But from then on I was scared that something like that could really happen.
When we lived in California I had this constant fear that someone would break into our house and hide somewhere in it, waiting for us to come home and attack us. This only increased when I became old enough to stay home by myself. Every time I entered the house I'd have to go through every room, open every closet and look underneath everyone's beds. If it was at night, I would turn on all the lights as I went. The house had 4 separate entrances, not to mention all the windows. If I forgot to check whether one of the back doors or the garage door was locked, I'd have to go do it all over again, because someone could have snuck in while I was doing the checking.
Once on a Saturday morning when I was a teenager, I awoke to the sound of the front door opening, followed by footsteps. I looked out my window, and neither my mom's or dad's cars were there. I freaked out, assuming that it was an intruder. I grabbed an empty wine bottle (it was from the James Flood winery, that's why I had it) and whacked it against the screen of my window, which popped out. I jumped out in an unusually agile move, then stood in the front yard, unsure of what to do next. My dad then appeared in my room, looking out the window. "What are you doing?" he asked. He and my mom had gone out to breakfast, then she'd dropped him off and went shopping. The other car was in the garage. I tried to explain my rationale and state of mind, which prompted my dad to ask if I was on drugs.
Ever since I've been living in cities, I don't think I've never once been afraid of people breaking into my apartment or hiding in my refrigerator with a machete. Most of America is scared of big cities, but for me suburbia was always way more frightening.
Unintentional double negative at the end there. I meant "I don't think I've ever been afraid," not "never."
I started that off saying "I've never been afraid..." but then I added the "I don't think" in case I might be forgetting an incident or two of fear (nothing so dramatic as Dan and the vibrating aliens though).
Mom,
You shouldn't feel guilty- I doubt my fears are completely tied up into one conversation. I think Dad let me watch "American Werewolf in London" because I begged him. I love horror movies and Dad thought I'd be fine because I was never really afraid of werewolves (except for the time that Richard and I were parked in front of Jamie's house kind of in wooded area of Piping Rock Dr. as he tried to find a way in because he was locked out and we planned on what we would do if a werewolf attacked Jamie) and vampires and that sort of stuff.
A babysitter let me watch "The Island."
Once on a Saturday morning when I was a teenager, I awoke to the sound of the front door opening, followed by footsteps. I looked out my window, and neither my mom's or dad's cars were there. I freaked out, assuming that it was an intruder. I grabbed an empty wine bottle (it was from the James Flood winery, that's why I had it) and whacked it against the screen of my window, which popped out. I jumped out in an unusually agile move, then stood in the front yard, unsure of what to do next. My dad then appeared in my room, looking out the window. "What are you doing?" he asked. He and my mom had gone out to breakfast, then she'd dropped him off and went shopping. The other car was in the garage. I tried to explain my rationale and state of mind, which prompted my dad to ask if I was on drugs.
Jim, you would not believe how similar this description sounds to some of my experiences. Although, I was never accused of being on drugs.
mom,
the hanging out on the roof thing was because they had told us at school that day that we should have an escape route in case of a fire.
also, i think it was another one of my fruitless plots to impress lisa.
from youthlarge:
but i thought i had a monopoly on the role of chicken? when i was 6 or 7, i was left home alone for the first time, while my mom went with my brother somewhere. i cried my eyes out the entire time. at one point, i think i was on the floor banging my fists on the carpet. the next house we lived in had this bathroom with a bathtub and a seperate stall shower. i was convinced i would be abducted by aliens if i took a shower. i spent an entire year when i was 9 or 10 only taking baths. and then of course there's the fact that i won't go see scary movies because the monsters creep into my dreams.
youthlarge,
we were made for each other.
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