Why I Love Horror

      I have always loved scaring people. Well into my teens I would play a game with myself where I would sneak around the house and scare my family members by being as stealthy as possible. Unlike, well, probably most kids, I wasn't inclined to scream or jump out at them. I wasn't in for the cheap scares. I wanted to be more subtle about it. For some bizarre reason I think on some level I wanted them to be on their toes when I was around. What I would do is sneak up on, say, my mother while she was washing dishes or watching tv. I would then wait patiently until she turned her head long enough that I could step into a position that would reveal my presence when she turned back. "How can someone so big be so quiet?!" she once said after a particularly good scare. I've never forgotten how much personal pride and satisfaction that question gave me. It felt good to be small for once. It felt good to be invisible instead of a lumbering, awkward teenager who hadn't gotten used to being 6'4" yet.

      So what does that say about me? Was it a cruel instinct, or a way to seek comfort from my family? The key is in motivation. I never had malice in my heart. Scaring my family and friends was all in good fun, and believe me I got my fair share in return. It became a game for me; a way to explore my fears in a safe way. It may stand to reason, but the scariest thing to do is confronting your fears directly. I have several consistent fears that have plagued me my entire life. Specifically I have always been afraid of the dark, being trapped, sharks, and spiders. Darkness and spiders don't affect me as much now. Through some intense and directed personal experimentation I've managed to become comfortable with those concepts. Being trapped and sharks have gone the other direction and twisted into half-cocked phobias.

      A "phobia" is defined as a type of anxiety disorder, usually defined as a persistent fear of an object or situation in which the sufferer commits to great lengths in avoiding, typically disproportional to the actual danger posed and often being recognized as irrational (thank you Wikipedia). Violently reacting anytime someone makes me feel trapped doesn't make me feel better. It's like a sneeze. If someone sits on me or makes me feel trapped I'm likely to break their nose trying to escape, and I can't control it. I'm 24 years old and swimming in a pool alone gives me panic attacks. I can't stop imagining a shark swimming out of the darkness towards me and after a while (even though I know it's -beyond- irrational) I can't stand it and I have to scramble desperately for the pool edge to get out. It makes me feel weak. It makes me feel crazy. What can I say? I'm not the healthiest individual in the world. I am a firm believer that direct confrontation is the -only- way to deal with your fears. It takes tremendous fortitude and willpower, however, and I'm not willing to go through it yet.

      Scaring other people makes me feel good. It makes me feel in control of fear itself. It isn't an altogether selfish endeavor, either. It's like giving someone a gift; the chance to be afraid and be safe at the same time. The chance to, without warning, feel alive. To feel your blood thundering in your ears and scream with primal energy. To walk around your own home like a gazelle in the tall grass, ears cocked and eyes wide open. To loose your imagination and let it run riot over your senses. Fight or flight, kill or be killed. It is, in my mind, the last and purest connection we have to nature. I say we embrace it.