Stockholm Syndrome [Frerard]

Intro. Foniasophobia

When you think of people's biggest fears the most common things to pop in your head are the dark, heights, spiders, or flying. Fears so run of the mill there's no reason to be ashamed of them, because chances are there are at least a few thousand other people who share it. I let people think I fall into the spider category, but it's not entirely false. Only something born of evil needs that many legs. And I will admittedly shriek like a three-year-old girl if I spot one big enough too close to me. I'm afraid of spiders, but spiders aren't my biggest fear.

I guess the fear of dying would be closer to the truth. But that's not decisively it. The uncertainty of when death will eventually take us all doesn't plague me. I'm not afraid to die exactly. It's more of the how it will happen. Who will make it happen. I'm afraid of being abducted by a serial killer to be slowly and painfully murdered. It's a phobia I'm completely embarrassed about having. It's stupid. I know it is. There's only a .00039% chance ending up the victim of a serial killer —not that I've researched it or anything. I've got a better chance choking to death on tortilla chip, but that still does mean there is a chance.

I'm paranoid. I know that. But at least being able to acknowledging my crazy means I'm still a little sane. This fear might be a little debilitating, but I'm not exactly locked away hiding. I live on my own. I have a job I have to leave my apartment for. I socialize with my coworkers every great now and then. I have a girlfriend I'm not sure I deserve. Parents that I'm dead to. You know, the usual. I don't know, I think it's pretty much the mundane average life of a financially struggling twenty-year-old. I just happen to have an extra issue. A fear that lingers in the background unnoticed until certain situations arise.

I'm just aware of risks and take better notice of my surroundings than most. I make sure my apartment is locked up tight. I carry a small switchblade. I avoid going anywhere secluded by myself if it can be helped. My girlfriend knows I'm anxious about deserted places, that I'm wary around new people trying to befriend me. She just thinks I'm nervous by nature. She'll tease me, call me a pussy and smack me on my shoulder. If she only knew the actual reason I got nervous by seemingly empty places is that they could be hiding some cutthroat crazy person. If she only knew the reason I'm uneasy befriending people at the start is because the first thought that pops into my head is that they could be a killer just trying to gain my trust. It was a miracle that I even had her as a girlfriend in the first place. I guess I was lucky that she has that take charge personality and wouldn't take my dismissive and timid demeanor as a rejection when we first met.

And I suppose I'm lucky too that she doesn't seem to care too much to prod about how I'm feeling or why. Thinking on it, our relationship leans more toward the physical connection. We've been together six months and haven't shared 'I love you's, but I trust her I guess. Enough to be intimate and alone. Enough to know she wouldn't legit kill me despite how I know I drive her crazy sometimes. But I could never tell her about this fear. I don't think I could ever tell anyone. I like to tell myself it's just because I'm embarrassed by it. But while that is part of the excuse for keeping this madness all to myself, the more real reason is if I let this knowledge out, who knows who else could find out. Something so simple as being harmlessly teased over this fear waiting in the queue to get movie tickets could lead to someone over hearing. Someone who could be a killer. A killer who would find the dumb kid with the murder phobia as the perfect next victim to stalk, take, and slaughter.

I don't exactly know what the big trigger was. You'd think it would have to stem from my fucked up violent childhood; sure I was scared then, but not of this. And even before things got bad at home I was already that weird little five-year-old that got into the love of gore and the gruesome and horror flicks, and as I got older the love of music with themes of violence and death. It was all cool. It still is cool. But I don't know when this happened. When I became afraid. When the pretend carnage I loved turned into something real that could happen to me. I know my nightly habit of watching violent crime shows before I went to bed only fueled my paranoid imagination, giving me more horrifying what-ifs that could happen, but I'm addicted to those kind of shows. I do still like gore after all, and the chase of the killer was captivating. Plus you could see what the victims did right and wrong. You can plan out what you could do differently to stay alive, to get away.

It was when I went to bed alone or even with my girl that I would get the most nervous. I'd make sure the place was locked down like Fort Knox. I'd lay awake and listen for any noise that could possibly be the sound of someone breaking in. It wasn't every night, but it was most that I'd stay that way, laying there with my eyes closed listening, worrying, and fearing until I finally passed out.

I know I'm crazy, at least to a degree. Being murdered isn't exactly an everyday occurrence that someone should dwell on and fear when they're going to sleep at night or waiting alone at a bus stop. Normal people don't ever imagine this sort of thing happening to them. But this does happen to people. Someone has to be that .00039%. I did my best to not to worry. I did my best to stay out of obvious risky situations. But despite my best efforts I think there's a chance I could become a statistic. He's probably not a serial killer. He might not even kill me at all. But he does have a gun and, he took me with him.

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***Originally written in 2008 and now brought back to life revamped for your viewing pleasure :)***