Achluophobia, Nyctophobia, Scotophobia or Lygophobia, whatever you call it, for me, it’s a nightmare. Time: 7:35 PM. Just like every other day of my life, I stand by my window starring at the dusk falling rapidly, catching a few more moments of the light, hoping somehow the sun doesn’t set this time but disappointed again.

As the room starts to get darker, so do my thoughts. I feel my heart beating faster, the uneasiness of breathing, body sweating as I try to ignore the slight pain I feel in my chest. I think to myself, only if I could just run away to a place where I could breathe again, but where could I go? This was my reality that I could not escape, at least not now. Today is the day I had always been dreading, I was home alone and the sun had almost set.

It is crazy how just imagination could change your world; and I am living that crazy right now. I cannot concentrate on anything but the dark. Without realizing, I start to shake with the thought of turning around and walking to the light switch to turn on the light. I am afraid to take these few steps; I don’t know what to do. All of the things that could go wrong are rushing through my mind, especially being alone.

I remember the therapist’s words and try to take deep breaths. I finally make up the courage to turn around and face the door. I almost think I can’t do it but manage to move my muscles and turn. I realize I had been holding my breath which I let out. It feels like an accomplishment, almost satisfactory before the half open door grabs my attention.

Now, I count. Seven steps to the switch. It feels like I can never make it. The thought frightens me and give me anxiety. I try to stay as silent as possible and look around the room; I feel my stomach drop to my feet as I see my own shadow move from the night light in my room that is always on. Anything could come out from behind the door screaming at me and it would all end right now. What if I get attacked? What if I can’t get away? What if I cannot face it?

It seems so real, I almost start to cry. I can’t stand it anymore, it’s like I am losing control, half dying. My numb fingers make me question if I have the strength to even pull the light switch. The time moves slower than ever. I cannot live with the thought of someone peeking at me from behind the door but also can’t breathe in this dark room. Not being able to see completely makes me feel like someone is always there, just waiting for me to close my eyes. I take a deep breath, and feed myself words of hope.

With all the courage I have left in me, I walk fast towards the door, turn on the light switch, run to my bed and hide myself under the blankets. A little bit of life enters me. I lay there staring at the bright light directly above me, bothering my eyes but much pleasant than the fear I felt in the dark. Unable to sleep, I think, scared and shaking. Is the door locked? Am I safe? Can I make it?

Time now: 2 AM. Still wide awake, I feel the dryness of my mouth and the desperate thirst for water, 4 more hours until the sun rise. I can wait. I can wait I tell myself before I hear rapid knocks on the door.

This is what a day in a life of a person with fear of darkness looks like. This writing piece was originally for a psychology class assignment but I chose to include it into my blog as well because I connected to it in a way. It also allowed me to step into someone else’s shoes and view life from a different perspective.