Embracing Terror

I've been working with a new therapist for a few months now, and I've noticed she's brought up the word "terror" fairly frequently in regards to a particular issue we've been focusing on. Each time I say, "no, not terror..." and wrinkle my brow that she's brought it up again. Last week, she had asked me what emotion I experienced in a particular moment and I couldn't name it..and you guessed it! She suggested "terror" again. I didn't know what the hell it was, but no it wasn't terror. For some reason though, I really started to think about terror...

I scanned my life looking for times I felt "terrified" and couldn't come up with anything. Sure, I could identify plenty of anxiety and fear, but no terror...at least I don't think so... I know the difference between anger and rage...I know the difference VERY acutely. But what is the difference between fear and terror. I thought about what movies tell me...terror involves screaming, sobbing, shaking according to all of the horror movies. But what if that is only one side of terror?

So, with a slightly different perspective I started scanning through my memories again, without judgement, just looking for events that perhaps others might find terrifying. It took a couple days, but I found it...

I'm 6, I've just gotten off the school bus...Walking up to the door…the screen door is closed but the door is open. My “Spidey-sense” is tingling when I approach the door. I hear sobbing/moaning/mumbling…and wait. I catch of brief glimpse of my sister as she walks on her knees from the hall into the living room…sobbing and rambling unintelligibly. I freeze briefly…I KNOW it is imperative that I don’t be seen…I KNOW there is “danger” here, and I need to get away. I’m momentarily paralyzed by this...dare I say? terror? If I move, she’ll see me, and surely that will mean disaster. My mind races…what do I do? A breath, and I decide to sneak downstairs and hide until someone gets home. I stand quietly for a second…I can hear her jangling around in the silverware drawer, still moaning and crying. I make a break for it, and run downstairs trying not to make a sound. And I wait in the half dark until my brother returns from chores and finds me hiding.

I don’t know exactly what I was afraid of in that moment that I stepped up to the door... I didn’t have visions of her killing me, or skinning me alive. But the relief in my brother’s voice when he found me downstairs let me know that I wasn’t off track in my …terror, as did the conversation when my parents called later that night and he told them K had gotten fucked up on diet pills and he had hid the knives because he was afraid she would have tried to killed me.

Yes, that was terror. And yes, those moments that my therapist suggested might have been sprinkled with terror were indeed terror. Frozen terror. 

Oddly, I'm feeling a bit like a kid with a new toy having uncovered a new emotion. But, then it is kinda cool to have reclaimed another piece of myself, even if it is a little thing like being able to name terror. And to speak it, is to have power over it, so it's all good. I'll embrace my terror...it is an old friend after all. And an old friend who helped keep me safe...