I don’t get scared often.  I admit to having my moments, especially when watching films or having to walk past large insects (I mean the ones that are big enough so I can see individual eyes).  But I wouldn’t say that’s fear.  More of a real discomfort and a general feeling of unease.  Yet, earlier this year, I experienced fear.  One I believe has been playing on my mind for a while now.  I’m unsure of where it came from, and as the experience is fairly rare I’ve not yet completely resolved it.

Here’s my story.  I’d love to know what you think.

A couple of years ago, I had the strangest experience.  I remember having a dream that a couple of people were breaking into our home.  I could hear the noise of breaking glass and murmuring voices.  I could feel the tension in my body.  I lay in my bed starting to get scared.  And then I made a decision.  I leapt out of bed screaming and ran down the stairs yelling in an effort to scare them off.  It’s not what I’d expect of myself.  In fact, I can’t believe I didn’t hide.  What’s strange about this?  The screaming, yelling, and running after the would-be burglars wasn’t part of the dream.  It happened in real life.  I woke up the entire house and scared the life out of them.  My heart was pumping like crazy and it took me a while to calm down.

Back to this year.

I was in our home by myself for a few weeks.  During this time there were an increased instances of burglaries in the local area.  Some were even taking place when people were awake in their homes.  In response, one of my neighbours decided it was time to do something.  So they popped a letter in to everyone on the street suggesting a meeting later in the week.  I believe this was my trigger.

From that moment on, I felt an intense responsibility for our belongings.  That I needed to ensure nothing was taken.  That I took care of our property.  Being an incredibly independent individual who doesn’t actually place too much value in owning stuff, this was unexpected to say the least.

I started putting the alarm on at night.  I made sure I wasn’t going out for long periods of time.  I even only went out during the evening a couple of times during that whole period, which is unusual for me.  I even justified this to myself, by saying that I didn’t want my cat to be on his own so much.  It just wasn’t true.  I was scared to leave in case something happened.  I was scared to stay on my own in case something happened.  I hated the feeling, but I just couldn’t shake it.  Logic was not helpful.  It lasted just over a week, and gradually dissipated after this point when my life fell back into a routine.

As I write this, I wonder if that was the issue in the first place.  Maybe my life became a little too disjointed.  Maybe I just needed some structure and my mind decided the only way to achieve this was to scare me so I stayed home and worked on what was really important to me.  Almost like when some people get ill so they have to slow down.  Perhaps I experience fear to help me focus on what’s important.  I don’t know for sure why I got so scared, but this explanation makes sense to me.