When I was younger, I didn’t have nightmares. Having ‘nightmares’ implies that there were dreams that were good. No, when I was younger I was plagued with dreams; Bad dreams, scary dreams, dreams that I would wake up crying to, call them what you want. But it was every night, so they were just dreams. For them to be bad dreams, there would have to be good ones to compare with. I can’t remember ever having a good dream.

There were nights that I would dream that someone in my family died, often falling down a deep pit. Each time I would be at the rim of the pit, so close to being able to save them. But I couldn’t. And I would be forced to watch them fall until they hit the ground. And then I would start crying and would wake up sobbing.

There were dreams that I would be outside with a younger sibling and out of nowhere, a wild animal would appear. I’d always make it into the house, but my younger sibling wouldn’t. Once I was inside, I would peak out to see them crying as the animal stalked closer. I was the oldest, so it was my job to protect them. I would run out and try to save them, to give them enough time to get inside. Those dreams normally ended with me getting mauled or bitten as I fought. I would normally wake up to those spots hurting, whether it be from a growing pain or something else.

And then there were the nights that I dreaded the most, they were the most common and had the most variety. Each dream would include me and a realistic, terrifying tyrannosaurus rex that was bent on murdering me. Sometimes it was in my house, my grandma’s house, or on a rainy night at a dock. Sometimes it would include other people that would be eaten. Sometimes I was running, others I was hiding. No matter what I did, I was caught and eaten. I would wake up as the dinosaur was biting down on me, my heart pounding and too terrified to make any noise. Most nights I was too scared to move, too worried that my dream would come to life and find me. On a few nights, I’d seek refuge in my parents’ room, sneaking silently across the house with a racing pulse, worried that the T-rex from my dreams would see me.

If you’ve ever watched Jurassic Park, you’d understand a bit of how those nights went. But the dinosaurs in my dreams were smart and were looking for me specifically. They were determined to ruin my nights. And they succeeded. I’ve never felt as much terror as I did in those dreams, even to this day. Waking up paralyzed with fear, scared to look around any corner at night. That’s what started my fear of the dark. It wasn’t the dark itself, but what could be hiding in the dark, lurking and waiting for its chance to attack.