Afraid of the Dark…
When I was a boy, I remember having a distinct fear of a certain part of my house. My living room terrified me. Of course, it did! At night, with my parents in bed and the lights cut off, in our eerily quiet three-bedroom, two-car garage house on Eider Drive, fear came to life. And I dared not confront the darkness when I’d sneak out of my room to the kitchen to get snacks or drinks.
Exiting my purposely darkened room (my door was directly across from my parents’ room, and I didn’t want to stir them), I would stealthily feel my way down the equally dark, narrow hallway. The front door was on the left, just past where the corridor ended. There a pale, dim light spilled its ghostly blue hues through three narrow, blindless windows onto the linoleum flooring.
Beyond this, to the right, my living room awaited, where not even the light from the atrium would dare venture. So deep and frighteningly turbulent was its darkness that I’d trained myself never to look into it–lest I see something. And God forbid that this something in the dark should see me too! It felt like a punishable offense to even witness whatever lurked in the shadows. As if it ensconced itself assuming that no one would be stupid enough to turn and gaze upon its hellish visage. So, I’d never look that way. I’d never confront the darkness.
Overcome by Fear
Night after night, as soon as I’d get to this point in my journey, I wouldn’t hesitate. I’d bolt right across the entry way, whiz right through the atrium lights, right into the next safe spot. Though it felt like miles, only a few steps separated the hallway from the kitchen and thus, the kitchen light switch. And as soon as the light would come on, I’d feel better. No fear. No anxiety. Nothing lurking in the darkness–at least, that’s what I pretended to believe… I suppose the embarrassment of being afraid of the dark convinced me to play it off even to myself! My courage waxed hot yet waned even colder.
For as I gathered my goods or poured myself a soda, I’d look over my shoulder at the slightest noise. And God help me if the joints and members of the house settled! Constantly, my hackles were raised. And, even with the comfort of the light which gave me fleeting relief, my heart would practically beat out of my chest as I imagined what could be just around the corner: the unknown, murderous entity that desired not only just to kill me, but to scare the living shit out of me before it did.
With the mission accomplished of having my gullet handsomely filled with Pop Tarts, Doritos, or, sometimes, leftovers from dinner, I’d repeat the same process in reverse; like spinning a vinyl backwards halfway expecting Satanic messages to come through the speaker. I was happy enough not to encounter anything Satanic, of course. It had went on like this for years.
Confront the Darkness
When I was twelve, a change occurred. After years of practicing (and mastering) the art of being a coward, something eventually clicked–probably because of messages I’d heard from the pulpit on Sundays and Wednesday nights at Church of Christ South. I became indignant to my fear of the dark. I’d grown sick of it. I was tired of being afraid.
So, on my way to the kitchen one night, I deliberately faced the living room. The shadows stirred. My heart raced. My breath was still. But I did it. This happened a few times over the course of a few weeks. Yet, I’d still feel invisible, taloned fingers grasping at my nape as I passed my living room.
Stand Your Ground!
Another time when I’d passed by, I had stopped to confront the darkness again. But I did something unexpected, even for myself–I spoke. Colorful Christianese spilled into the shadows full of forcefully whispered chastisement. I could feel angry, hateful eyes looking at me from the darkest corners as I called whatever was there “toothless”, “powerless”, “liar”…
It seemed that my words gave me momentum. Enough so that I actually stepped past the threshold! I found myself in the middle of my scary, dark, monster-occupied living room where I happily sat down and crossed my legs. Even with the shadows moving so weirdly around me in the pitch black, I remained courageous. I mastered my fear.
Triumph Over Fear
I can honestly say that I’m typically not afraid of much nowadays. When asked by my kids, “What scares you?”, my answer is always “nothing”. Fair enough since I happen to believe that God is with me, even when I screw up. My family and I are hemmed in by His grace. That’s me–believe what you want about yourself.
More to the point of this blog, as a novice writer, for some reason, I forgot all that. I hesitated, delayed, put off, or otherwise stopped moving forward in my craft. All because of my old foe–the invisible monster from my childhood that lurked in the chaotic shadows of my living room. Only, the monster has taken on different forms and no longer occupies (as far as I know) that vaulted living room space. Now its shaped like an author page, a blog, and SEO considerations. The hidden, fang-bearing, claw-wielding demon morphed into the diabolical shape of unfinished pieces, a lack of education, unvetted work, and a whole lot of self-doubt.
Fear Needs a Body…Don’t Give it One!
The monster has definitely shapeshifted… but it hasn’t really changed. Not much, anyway. It’s still invisible, toothless, ‘all bark, no bite’… It’s still incorporeal, like the void from which it comes. And as I confront the darkness, this terrifying beast becomes what it always was–simply in my head. The thing is, the more I just thrust myself into this process, the less tangible my fears become. I mean, here I am writing my very first blog!
In fact, I’ve learned to like this terrifying formless void where pure potential exists…as well as monsters. I find that I crave it! It’s this very chaos from whence creativity draws its power, and from the formlessness, its being. In fact, I like it so much I think I’ll sit down in the middle of it, cross my legs, and stay a while. Maybe, just maybe, I’ll find a real monster and capture it! Then, I’ll bring it here and allow it roam and skulk in the dark corners of my pages. From where, perhaps, it’ll find its way into your living room.