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Writer's Block: Fearsome
Feb. 7th, 2009 03:17 pm[Error: unknown template qotd]My mom worked nights, so I often spent the night at home alone from a very young age -- around 7 or 8. Her ex girlfriend lived in a nearby apartment, so she would come check on me, but I had our apartment to myself.
I was always sure that one of two things would happen in the night.
1.) The apartment building would catch on fire, and I would have to climb out of my bedroom window on the second story. This was probably because when I was really little, our trailer would have small electrical fires on a regular basis. The outlets would smoke, and then we'd have to call the fire department. I may be imagining that this happened more often than it did in reality. Maybe it only happened 3 times in the five years we lived there... I would have to ask my mom.
This fear was not paralyzing in the way that some of my other fears are. I was prepared. I made a ladder out of sheets and tied it to my loft bed, so I could climb down it. Every single night before bed, I would wrap my most favorite things in my blankie and tie it up and place it next to the window and the sheet ladder. I usually had the screen pulled out of the window, too. I would practice gettting down from my loft really fast as often as possible, so when the time came I wouldn't be nervous, I could just do it naturally. The things in the blankie were always pretty similar: my favorite doll of the moment, my tabacco box, a perfume bottle that was my great grandma's, and two or three of my favorite articles of clothing. I never actually had to climb out the window.
2.)Someone was going to come into our house to kidnap/rape/beat me up. I often lost my house key, so I had to learn how to open the door with my ID card from the University of Toledo Recreation Center. I knew it was really easy to just slip a card in, and open the door. I couldn't use the chain because then Carol, my mom's ex, wouldn't be able to get in when she needed to. So instead, I would practice lying still. When I went to bed, I would pack blankets and pillows all around me so that it looked -- I imagined -- like I was just part of the mattress. Then I would become very concious of my breathing. With each breath in, I would slowly suck in my stomach. And with each breath out, I would push my belly up a little, to keep it from deflating. This was a nightly ritual, whether my mom was home or not. I felt like someone was definitely watching, and I had to be so disciplined that even if I had the worst itch in the history of itches, I could not, at any cost, scratch it.
I was always sure that one of two things would happen in the night.
1.) The apartment building would catch on fire, and I would have to climb out of my bedroom window on the second story. This was probably because when I was really little, our trailer would have small electrical fires on a regular basis. The outlets would smoke, and then we'd have to call the fire department. I may be imagining that this happened more often than it did in reality. Maybe it only happened 3 times in the five years we lived there... I would have to ask my mom.
This fear was not paralyzing in the way that some of my other fears are. I was prepared. I made a ladder out of sheets and tied it to my loft bed, so I could climb down it. Every single night before bed, I would wrap my most favorite things in my blankie and tie it up and place it next to the window and the sheet ladder. I usually had the screen pulled out of the window, too. I would practice gettting down from my loft really fast as often as possible, so when the time came I wouldn't be nervous, I could just do it naturally. The things in the blankie were always pretty similar: my favorite doll of the moment, my tabacco box, a perfume bottle that was my great grandma's, and two or three of my favorite articles of clothing. I never actually had to climb out the window.
2.)Someone was going to come into our house to kidnap/rape/beat me up. I often lost my house key, so I had to learn how to open the door with my ID card from the University of Toledo Recreation Center. I knew it was really easy to just slip a card in, and open the door. I couldn't use the chain because then Carol, my mom's ex, wouldn't be able to get in when she needed to. So instead, I would practice lying still. When I went to bed, I would pack blankets and pillows all around me so that it looked -- I imagined -- like I was just part of the mattress. Then I would become very concious of my breathing. With each breath in, I would slowly suck in my stomach. And with each breath out, I would push my belly up a little, to keep it from deflating. This was a nightly ritual, whether my mom was home or not. I felt like someone was definitely watching, and I had to be so disciplined that even if I had the worst itch in the history of itches, I could not, at any cost, scratch it.
