I have feared the dark my entire life. I’m no psychologist, but I’m guessing the five years I lived in an abusive home as a child might have something to do with this fear. The feeling has ranged from mild anxiety to downright terror, depending upon the situation, yet it has always been a part of me.
I mostly got over it in my late 20s, when I started living with J full time. I developed a habit of feeling safe at night that replaced my habit of checking under the beds and in the closet. Even when he started traveling more, I had gotten out of the routine of fear and felt pretty much OK in the house by myself with only an alarm system to keep me company.
And then, of course, a gentleman decided to start breaking into homes in my new neighborhood wearing a ski mask. Welcome back, fear of the dark.
The house has an alarm system, but it has not yet been activated. Needless to say, I have the kind folks at ADT coming over here today. We have no pets to frighten criminals away, although I can’t say a cat would really accomplish all that much. And, of course, my husband has not been home much at night.
It is clear this guy watches the neighborhood, which is why he chooses the homes of old women living alone who leave their windows open at night. Should he run out of old women, however, I fear we would be next on his list. Again, I’m not an expert, but if I were a ski-masked burglar, I would choose the six-months-pregnant woman alone all week with two small children.
I check and recheck locks. I keep a phone and a cell phone by my bed. I wake up every hour in the night. Because now, there is a real-life boogeyman to fear, and I have someone other than myself to worry about.