There comes a point of everyone's school life where they are tested on all they have learned. Finals. GSCES. State testing. Whatever you call it. It diminishes any good from the year. A test and its score clams up students as they complete it.

I'm still dealing with that fear myself.

It swallows you whole. Plaguing your mind, making you believe things that aren't true. Sweat runs down your hands in rivers. Your mind is blank as you frantically scan the questions. The time ticks like a mournful gong. Your stomach becomes a vacant anxious pit. It doesn't go away after the test because you know in the deepest corners of your mind, it will keep coming back the following year.

I also doubt it will ever go away because even if I finish every final I am given, there will always be something to measure our success in numerical values. Something that makes even the most motivated people doubt their own skills in fear of never being good enough to get the score they want.

No one I know really talks about memory gaps due to trauma, but most of my family has them. The two main ones for me are when I was six, one of my older brothers was dying of leukemia, and the other was in 2020, when my dad went insane.

It honestly is a terrifying feeling to have literally months of your life be blank. My family doesn't really talk much about what happened with my brother (he is alive and doing well by the way), but recently it has been up for discussion. I have discovered that almost a year of my memory during that time is missing: I mostly remember people crying (especially my baby sister) and visiting the hospital several times.

But the most terrifying time of my life was probably when my dad went crazy.

He hadn't been mentally stable for years, but we hadn't realized anything was off. (He mostly sat around like a rock and did nothing.) We discovered that he was crazy when he was on a trip with my oldest brother about halfway across the USA from us. My brother ended up calling 911, and when they made it back home we found out that my father was Bipolar.

It is a really terrifying feeling when you realize that you have a dad, but he doesn't do anything a dad should do. My dad is pretty normal now (he still gets kinda weird sometimes), and I simply am not used to it. If I am going to be honest, I and most of my siblings no longer have a good relationship with our dad. For too many years he didn't care about us, or what we did, and I simply don't have the level of respect for him that I should have.

I have a memory gap of several months, and only recently have I opened up to several people close to me and let some of the trauma go. I've kept it locked inside of me for so long, and I don't really know how to let go. I am afraid of letting people see my vulnerable side, and I'm afraid of building a relationship with my dad because I'm afraid that he will go insane again.

So I guess for me, the most terrifying experiences of my life are from when I went through trauma, and I'm afraid to go through that again. I'm slowly healing, but I've got a long ways to go.

I threw my body to the ground and wept.

This isn't me. This isn't me. THIS ISN'T ME!

I tried to convince myself, but it was futile.

Maybe some other day this wasn't me. Maybe some other day I was that fearless viking warrior queen: tall and proud and lacking even the ability to shed a tear. Maybe some other day I was a woman who evoked feelings of fear in others-- a woman who men shrank away from when she stood at her full height-- whose shoulders were set wide-- whose eyes squinted in permanent cat-like glare, angry at the world and anyone who might dare to tell her no. Maybe some other day. Maybe every other day. But not today.

Today I was small. Today I wanted to curl into the caverns of my heart like a snail retreating into its shell. Today I would bargain with God almighty. Today I was broken.

Broken by three words:

Multi. Organ. Failure.

God. Please. God PLEASE. Please. I know, God. We don't bargain. I know.

But God, please. Please don't take her from me.

Please.

Please don't let her die.

I will do anything.

I was afraid. Horrifically afraid.

I wanted to throw up and then hurl myself out the 3rd story window.

I wanted to scream.

I wanted to melt into nothingness.

I wanted to drown my tears in the folds of her Minnie mouse nightgown and never emerge again.

But I didn't.

I hid in the bathroom for all of five minutes, threw myself to the ground, silently wept, bargained her life for mine, and then wiped the snot off my face and pasted on a smile.

I climbed into the hospital bed next to her, held her, stroked her flaccid hair.

I whispered in her ear. I begged her to wake up. I promised she could have that kitten she'd been wanting. I promised we'd make those necklaces she'd asked for. I promised the extra story before bed, and the extra kiss, and the one more drink of water. I promised her four candles on her birthday cake this summer.

I promised to never forget again.

I would never forget again the value of her life to me.

I held her all night, flinching at every monitor beep, praying, pleading, forsaking every physical and mental need. When the sun was slicing through the curtains, I got out of the bed and stood.

Enough. God. I have had enough.

Pass this cup from me.

Use me.

Heal her.

I laid my hands on her small body. They nearly covered her completely. My hands are large and she was so, so small.. barely three years old.

I felt power coursing in my veins. The exhaustion of the last two weeks fell away as the shafts of sunlight burned into the small room, enveloping us both in blinding light.

Oh Lord, my God.

You who are able.

Let not my will, but your will be done.

It felt as though my hands were afire, and the moment stretched into eternity. A peace that passes understanding flooded my spirit.

And when I opened my eyes...

She was smiling up at me.

I was losing control of my car. The highway was slick with rain, shining like spilled oil over the nighttime road. I was angry, with the divider on one side, pinning me in, and a barrier on the other side. I was angry and I was out of control.

I had had a day. Work sucked, in the way that not only mentally drains, but emotionally cripples. I hated it. Stewing in likewise crippling PTSD, in which I lashed out at strangers, I had my foot on the gas, and I kept accelerating, like a mad man. Like a mad, angry, crippled woman.

I had encountered a blue minivan on the highway, going forty. Forty! I had to get around them. I had to get around them. I had to SHOW them they were wrong, oblivious, worthless.

I floored the gas. Here’s what is fun: that giddy feeling of getting away with something. Of being bigger than stupidity.

But here’s the thing: I lost control of my car. Suddenly, like a switch somewhere in the cosmic universe had been flipped, my wheels couldn’t hold traction. I was sliding all around the highway.

I was going ninety five miles per hour.

At this point, I had passed the blue minivan. The blue minivan was truly, in this moment, seemingly oblivious - it was going the speed limit, maybe sixty five or seventy miles per hour. In desperation, I floored the brakes. My car skidded even more. My wheel jerked all around like it was having a seizure.

The blue minivan was coming up right behind me. I closed my eyes. I closed my eyes, like it made sense to give up. I thought: I hope there aren’t children in that car.

Just then, a wide patch of grass appeared out of nowhere, on the righthand side of the highway. My car perfectly skidded onto it, coming to a complete stop right in the middle of it.

I was shaking. I was shaking like I myself was having a seizure, like the steering wheel had passed it on. My hands gripped the steering wheel like I was trying to crush it, break it into a million little pieces. A million little horrible pieces of agony.

I had never prayed, but in that moment I put my hands in the prayer position. I watched the blue minivan go by, unscathed. I would never learn if there wete children in it. I looked around for cops: none.

I was at that point supposed to be on my way to therapy. I continued to drive there, shaking. When I got there I told my therapist everything that had happened.

I asked her to take my drivers license. She didn’t.

My anger issues back then were rife. I know that. I really do. I can talk about my mom, how it’s all her fault. But who had the car, in the rain, with their own decisions completely their own?

I still think about that sometimes. The rain, the moment I put my foot on the gas: eighty, eighty five, ninety. Ninety five. How I didn’t care at all about the consequence. For anyone, but least of all myself.

I was home alone a little while ago. I can't remember exact dates or even a year, but it was Pre-Covid. Both my parents were gone for the evening, and I was alone.

Everything was normal, I put a pizza in the oven, watched some T.V., and just did everyday things. Then I checked my phone.

My friends were arguing in a group chat, over some trivial bullshit I can't even remember. Basically, everyone was taking sides except for me, who wasn't on my phone until too late, and everyone broke apart and the chat was quiet.

I felt sick and lightheaded because my biggest fear is everyone leaving me. I'm okay with being alone but cannot handle being left.

The icing on the fucking cake? When I went to school the next day, feeling like I was choking back vomit all day, everything was back to normal. They solved the problem in private messages, and it was like everything was brand new.

My thoughts convinced me I would be left, as back then these people were like my only friends. I ended up leaving them later that year because they started to isolate me and I didn't want to be abandoned by them. They sucked, and I have more and better friends now, but those people made me realize my worst fear, so not a fun day.

When you grow up in a small town you have a built-in sense of safety. Everyone knows everyone and everything. On a hot summer night when we were sixteen my friend and I encountered pure evil. We lost not only our sense of safety but were exposed to pure evil. It left us both very guarded and it taught me to be aware of my surroundings at all times. I had picked up my friend Liz and we had gone about three blocks from her house to a Circle K to gas up.

The store was on a large corner lot with the store being to the back of the lot and the gas pumps angled at the front corner edge of the lot right next to where two streets formed a T. Liz had gone to pay, and I was just finishing gassing up when she crossed the parking lot. I literally had just put my cap on and was going to place the hose back on the pump....it was dusk, and we saw car lights coming down the street in our direction so fast, in fact we commented on how fast they were going. I guess they noticed us standing under the lights at the pump and were in their sights - at a high rate of speed they swerved into the parking lot heading towards the back of my car. As they approached, we heard them yelling some really horrible and vulgar comments that we had never been exposed to. By the grace of God, we jumped in and truly just got our doors locked.

These men who were probably in their late 20s or older had jumped out of their car and were pulling at our door handles and we are sitting there terrified and screaming. Besides being so purely evil, it seemed like they were intoxicated or on something - they all had a dirty disheveled appearance...their behavior was what nightmares are made of for young girls....I didn't think to start honking the horn as the men were literally grinding and thrusting their bodies against our doors and pulling our handles all the while saying some really disturbing things. Two were on my side, one on hers and one at the back of my car. Our terrified screams fell on deaf ears. Evil never hears the pleas of those they intend to harm. We just wanted to get the hell out of there - I started my car and peeled out. At this point we are mixed crying and screaming but thought we were safe as we headed back to Liz's house.

In my rearview mirror I just couldn't believe I saw their headlights coming behind us. I screamed, "they are behind us." So now we are both screaming again...We couldn't stop at her house as we would have never gotten a chance to get in - her parents were not at home so we did not have that safety net and I think we were shaking so badly we knew we just never would have stood a chance to get that door unlocked.

They quickly were right on our bumper. At the end of the street was a stop sign. I ran it and almost caused a wreck. My car was in the right lane of the street the other car had gone into the left to avoid hitting us. Being a small town, of course we knew the people - we jumped out screaming and ran to them as the car with those four evil men quickly backed up and turned around. We knew they weren't local....our small town was on a main highway that connects those coming from the north to the coast. We had no real description of the car other than it being big, brown and old. The store clerk was unaware of what had transpired because after Liz paid, she was carrying out other duties since we had been the only customers at that time. Our Chief of Police said they would be looking but that he was confident they were just passing through and happened to see us...he felt they had taken the business route instead of staying on the main highway and just shook his head at what we had experienced. He told us the important thing was we were safe...but we felt anything but safe. We truly met with evil that day and I always prayed to keep anyone safe who crossed paths with any of those monsters.

So a thing that terrified me back when I was a young child, would definitely NOT terrify me today, or even as a teenager, but as a small child- I freaked out! My dad had taken us to a Go Cart and mini golf place one summer. It was a blast of course, but at some point I had to go use the restroom. I was about 6-7 years old maybe at the time and I went inside and went on in the bathroom. When I walked in I noticed that they had big long sinks on the wall and I had never seen those before. I thought they looked weird but kept on walking to the stall. I shut the stall and started to use the restroom and all of a sudden a grown man walks in and is peeing in the sink and I start freaking out and crying in the stall. He was probably like WTF - lol. I cried until he left and then once he was gone I hightailed it out of there and was embarrassed that I had went into the wrong restroom. I was so scared though- LOL!

A few weeks ago I had a panic attack. I had been suppressing my feelings for a while and I guess that's what caused it. I had rushed to the garage so my parents wouldn't hear. I sat on our golf cart sobbing. I was hyperventilating, and shaking and I was fuggin terrified. (Ug reliving this is not fun) I kept getting up and walking around. I was muttering the words 'just stop' over and over again. Then, I suddenly felt like someone was there. I felt like I was actually in danger, I backed myself into a wall to make sure I would see everything. God, I was so scared. Now I know I was being irrational, but in that moment, I felt like I was back in my childhood, defenseless and constantly in danger. (I really hate thinking about this, but I kinda need to right?) So yeah, that is a time I was truly terrified.

I was holding my sleeping baby in my arms. It was three in the morning, and my dad called me.I could hear crickets in the background, when if anything there should have been the sound of late night television. He said he was tired, then he hung up and didn't answer for the next ten minutes. I finally got a hold of him, and he was trying to get into someone's truck. Somewhere that was not his house, or anywhere nearby because my sisters were driving around looking for him.He kept saying to me to unlock the door. It took me at least an hour through multiple hangups and hoping that his phone wouldn't die, but I finally got him to read the license plate number to me, so the police could find him. Five miles away from his house.

Pardon my French, fuck dementia.

The only time I have ever been afraid.

My ex came home drunk around 3 am.

He was loud and obnoxious and my 3 children were asleep so I told him to be quiet. I was also seven months pregnant with my youngest son.

My ex was mean when drunk, he didn’t want me telling him what to do so he hit me hard enough to knock me down. My mistake was getting back up because he beat me so bad.

All I can remember thinking was don’t let him hurt the kids! Over and over.

I woke up in the hospital, I was told my neighbor found me unconscious, I was dead on Arrival when I got to the ER.

I do not fear death, I’ve been there, my biggest fear was not being able to protect my children.