Last Monday, I nearly pooped my pants

Last Monday, I nearly pooped my pants. For real. Not because of an inability to control my bowels, which is a reality I've faced more often than I'd like to admit, but because of the physical reactions that happen when my fight-or-flight response is triggered. I'll expand on that. 

If you know me, or have read any of my previous blogs, you know I suffer from Scelerophobia, which is a fear of robbers/bad men. Or more specifically in my case, a fear of robbers, rapists, basement monsters, murders, torturers, home invaders, slashers, sadists, etc. (I probably should have listed murders, who are real, before the most likely, non-existent basement monsters, but...meh.) At least 3-4 times a week, something happens here at the house (usually a scary noise or when the front porch light that is on a motion sensor turns on seemingly unprovoked at 1 in the morning) when I am alone that causes me to frantically text Boyfriend or call a family member, or in intense instances, both. Monday was definitely a "both" day.

I was in the kitchen, getting things ready to make dinner when all of a sudden I heard the back door, more specifically the storm door, fly open very loudly and then slam shut!!

A storm door, for my West Coast readers, is essentially a screen door made of glass that resembles this: 

(My storm door, however, was seemingly built during the Middle Ages and is decrepit and rickety and only has half of its indoor handle left and looks nothing like the above picture. )

So there I am in the kitchen, my sympathetic nervous system cranked into overdrive, heart pounding, adrenaline coursing through my body, breathing fast and shallow. And I am faced with a choice. Do I continue to stand there, frozen in the middle of the room, an easy target for my attacker to ambush at any moment? Or do I gather the seemingly-nonexistent-but most-likely-just-really-deeply-buried-courage from the dark abyss of my soul and defend myself? I realized I had a large and somewhat heavy plate in my hand that could be used as a weapon so I marched over to the kitchen door and looked through the window into the utility room that leads to the back door. 

But then I realized that the glare from the kitchen light was too bright and was preventing me from peering into the unlit utility room. There was only one solution: I'd have to turn off the lights and face my attacker in the dark. *Insert feeling of pants crapping here* It took me a few seconds, but I realized I was in a life or death situation and once I again I summoned that courage from the depths of my being. I flew over to the light switch, turned it off, and quickly returned to the kitchen window to get a visual my home intruder who was most likely ready to bash my skull in at any moment.

And out in the utility room I saw...

.

.

.

nothing...

Only the sight of the storm door, blowing in the wind. And I stood there and watched as it flew open and slammed shut once again, just as it had done when I thought I was for real being intruded upon this time. I tried to make the door latch, but as I mentioned, it's missing half of the inner door handle. So for the rest of the night I had to listen to the door crash and boom and bang and slam as it pranced about in the swift Chicago breeze. Boyfriend felt really bad that I got so scared and said we could buy new ones soon. Oh, the new fears the MidWest is inducing within me. Add "Phobia of Doors Blowing in the Wind" to my list :P