My mother says it started with three-year-old me crying over imaginary spiders. Years later, it progressed to double-checking the lock on the door more than once before leap-frogging across the empty floor space into bed at night. I then pulled the blankets up high and tight, until they rested just under my chin. I kept a pile of them at the foot of my four-poster bed for this exact ritual. I said a prayer, “Please protect me, please protect me, please protect me.” And I pulled the covers taut. I lay awake for hours, wondering how long it would take for someone to fight their way through the blankets before they reached the skin and bone of me. I imagined witches. I dreamt up killers. I mentally conjured up demons.
It still comes to me at night, this Fear that paints itself like a white line down the center of my spine…
Today, I have the privilege of hanging out in the Recovery Room with Seth Haines where he writes regularly about addiction and recovery. We’re all recovering from something, and I’m recovering from a lifelong battle with Fear. Join me there to read the rest.
