Why I Can't Watch Horror Movies

It's not an unknown fact that I'm very scared of horror movies. Some people can sit through them, enjoy them, and even think some of their attempts to "scare" you are funny. Not me. I just sit there and prepare to die.

The fact is, horror movies scare you on an entirely different level than other things. For example, when your friend jumps at you from behind a corner, you're extremely frightened for one second, but afterwards, you just want to punch someone in the face. But horror movies can scare you just as badly-- and then continue to do so for weeks. That's why I consider horror movies the scariest thing on the planet: because they have fear in both intensity and duration. 

Now, I used to always just take this fear of mine as a fact. Lots of people don't enjoy scary movies, and I was just one of the many. But looking back, I've started to think that maybe my extreme fear of horror movies comes from a scarred past. Perhaps I am still put- off by the one time I allowed myself to experience the horror genre-- and the startling revelation that followed. 

It was several years ago, on a crisp fall day. My mom and I were talking about scary movies. The thing is, my mom loves them-- she went through a whole phase where she watched every notable horror movie on the planet. As such, we eventually got on the topic of Psycho, the famous thriller by Alfred Hitchcock. I had never seen it, and didn't plan to. But for some reason, I was still curious about it-- so I asked her to explain the plot to me.

As many people who get easily scared would know, sometimes not seeing is even scarier than seeing itself. Looking back, I really should have changed the subject. But the thing was, as she was explaining it to me, I didn't feel that scared. In fact, I felt compelled to listen, and even, for a brief moment in my life, understood why some people might consider watching horror movies to be "fun." We ended to conversation on a fine note, and I proceeded to go about my day as usual.

Later that night, I practically sobbed my way through my entire shower praying someone wasn't waiting behind the curtain to stab me to death.

But even from this obvious example, I hadn't fully understood the truth. I simply thought that I was scared of horror movies. The only thing I had to do was stay away from them, and I would be fine.

Just a few days later, I got home from school and decided to watch some TV. At the time, one of my favorite shows concerned a group of intense fishermen who dedicated their lives to catching crabs. Looking back on it, it was a strange premise for a show, but at the time, it seemed rather natural.

But when I turned to the normal channel, I was not greeted by my beloved fishermen. Instead, the show had just finished, and another show was previewing: it was called "A Haunting."

Immediately, my logical mind began running. I had just scared myself silly a few days ago. I had discovered that I disliked horror. Now, there was a horror TV show in front of me. As such, my conclusion was very simple.

I continued watching.

Something was strange. Even though I knew I would definitely regret this choice for the rest of my life, I had no desire to avoid the imminent disaster in front of me. I sat through all the commercials. Then I sat through the opening sequence. And before I knew it, I was watching the documentary by my own will. 

The episode started off innocently enough. It took place in a comfortable suburban neighborhood, much like mine. There was a normal family, much like mine. There was a nice, yellow house, much like mine. Then all of a sudden, people started getting possessed and cups started flying all over the kitchen-- much unlike mine. 

Soon enough, I snapped out of my trance. I was scared-- very scared. There was no more curiosity, no more piqued interest. If I wanted to sleep that night, I had to turn off the TV immediately. But at that moment, I realized something even scarier: I couldn't move. I was literally so paralyzed with fear that I couldn't get close enough to the screen to turn it off.

So there I sat, in utter fear, until the whole episode finished. 45 minutes and several gory scenes later, I crawled back into my room, a hollow shell of my former self.

At this point, I finally resolved to never watch anything horror related again. There was no more lingering confidence, no more second chances. Something weird happened to me whenever I was exposed to the genre, and I was not like myself. It was best to avoid it entirely.

But of course, I still had no problem watching TV. A few days later, I eagerly turned on the TV, awaiting my heroic crab fishers.

Instead, "A Haunting" was playing again.

Again, I could feel something strange drawing me in. Again, I felt like convincing myself that the last times were no big deal, that I could handle it, that all I needed was one more try... But I snapped out of it. I screamed and ran out of the room, pleading my very confused brother to turn off the TV in my stead.

I had finally realized the truth: my relationship to horror films is like that of a moth and a flame. I know they're horrible for me, and I take no delight in their aftermath, but for some reason, once I'm exposed to them, I become incredibly curious and eager to watch. Thus, my only solution is to avoid them entirely, and thus, safe myself from a life of fear.

And that's why I can't watch horror movies.

THE END