Freddie Vs. Lauren

I have a history of being scared.

It all started when I was a little girl and, much like every other kid, I was afraid of the dark. I feared being hurt and captured while walking down the long hallway to the bathroom. I stopped using it at night due to that fear, which might have caused quite a few health issues. I wasn't afraid of the Boogie Man or ghosts, though. Instead I feared murderers and serial killers. Manson scared me, not monsters. Every night I'd check my closet and every night I'd fall asleep with the knowledge that no one was waiting to hurt me, but the fear that they could easily open my window.

I was raised on movies of all ratings. My parents saw it fit to let Justin and I watch R rated films, which led to millions of viewings of Terminator 2--Justin's favorite. They'd make us close our eyes during "naughty" scenes and swear not to repeat "dirty" words. Naturally, this would be fine until Justin would ruin it by saying "damn" and we'd have to turn off the film. I didn't see the end of My Cousin Vinny until I was eighteen. I became intrigued, yet still frightened, with the aspect of death. I devoured Christopher Pike books like candy. And then the nightmares started.

In middle school I started having horrid nightmares about a number of things, but usually someone being hurt. They scared me. Since I'm one to believe that some dreams have meaning behind them, I started to research why I was seeing such vivid pictures. No answers were found, but one conclusion was made--stop watching/reading scary material. That was around eighth grade.

Since then I shyed away from horror movies and books. My dreams were much better and although every once in a while they swayed towards the grotesque, it wasn't nearly as often. I felt better.

During college it became hard to find excuses why I couldn't go see the new suspense thriller out in theatres. It sounded a bit childish to say that I was scared of nightmares haunting me, so I'd invent casual excuses like too much homework or that I had an early morning the next day. Freshman year, trying to fit in, I tried going a few times. Not only was I immediately cursed with nightmares for weeks, but I also suffered from severe anxiety. Waiting for the moment for the psycho to strike, shrinking in my seat as the music stopped, it was all too much for me. It was the worst when I was dating a filmmaker--we never could agree on films. That wasn't why we broke up, but I wouldn't hold it against him if he counted it as a viable option.

It's easier now that I'm older. It's sad that avoiding the problem became the best solution, but really, it was. What else was I to do? I'd much rather hear the witty dialogue of When Harry Met Sally than the "EE EE EE" of Psycho