Micro-dosing fear with horror games and pals.

While editing my playthrough of Dead Space with the Lovelycraftians, I’d had a good laugh at how much I screamed at the jump scares. And Ambrose, at one point, praised me for how I was screaming, but still killing the necromorphs. Which I appreciated! It is nice when friends endure your shrill cries but still find a way to compliment you despite me making their eardrums bleed.

Even though I am a screaming scaredy-cat, I am having a fun time in this controlled environment, giggling with friends. And I realized, that’s part of why I like horror games.

Growing up, my mom always told me that I was very brave. She still does. She’d send me into stores from a very young age to return items for her because she was too anxious to do it herself. I yelled at playground bullies or my mother’s annoying boyfriends (and sometimes a husband). I researched important things she was too overwhelmed to look into, and cleaned up messes she was too grossed out to touch.

I didn’t, and still don’t, have some endless well of bravery I was somehow born with. I didn’t have an iron stomach that could handle uncomfortable or squeamish problems, whether literally or figuratively. I wasn’t some firebrand that enjoyed scolding bullies and adult men. I was the parentified eldest daughter and I was used to the fact that that if I didn’t do it, it probably wouldn’t get done.

When someone needed me to be brave, I find it very easy to do it. I can be brave for others. And sure, I’m terrified while I do it, but when something needs to be done, it just seems practical, even if it’s scary. At times growing up, life kind of felt like a survival horror game but without having the space to be afraid.

And sure this has made me a strong and capable adult. However, it has made it hard for me to be brave for myself because I only knew how to be brave when it came to someone else. Not having a safe space to be afraid, a sanctuary to express the well of anxiety within me, caused me to constantly avoid conflict and sacrifice myself. It made me a people pleaser who only thought I was only deserving of love if I was useful to those I loved.

But bravery isn’t the absence of fear. And being in a controlled and safe environment with friends is strangely therapeutic. It let’s me not only express my fear outwardly but also, feel the fear.

In real life, I tend to keep my fears wrapped up tight. And, in actual emergencies, I tend to be cool, calm, and collected.

One time, I had a roommate who accidentally started a fire on the stove. I was in the middle of trying to take a nap and all I heard was them running around and cursing a lot. Once they got loud enough, I finally decided to investigate and walked in on flames towering from the stovetop. I don’t remember having much of a reaction, other than saying, “Oh, I have a thing for this.” And I went to the cabinets and grabbed an emergency fire-stopping spray I bought a few months earlier. I sprayed the fire and it quickly went out. Seeing the emergency was over, I went back to lying down and let my roommate deal with the clean-up.

Now, because of my demeanor, when I’ve expressed my anxieties or fears in the past, most people were either incredibly surprised—since I always seemed to have a brave face—and had no idea how to help me (thus usually assuming I never needed any help). Or, treated me as a fragile being with glass bones that could easily be shattered at any moment.

But never the creature I am. A thing in the middle.

Two things can be true. I am very strong and capable, and can keep a cool head in an emergency and during problem-solving. I am also probably the biggest scaredy-cat out of all the Lovelies and I am so very soft.

But being with people who let me express my fear in a safe environment (while still taking out fires—but in this case metaphorical and replace fire with space zombies), helps me realize how far I’ve come. When you always have to be the brave one, the one who is calm and collected and gets the job done, it doesn’t mean you aren’t scared. It just means you still do the scary things but do it scared. And, if you are with people who make you feel emotionally safe enough to outwardly express that fear, then you are truly lucky.

Fear and anxiety aren’t bad things. They are survival instincts that helped our species get this far. But I am, if anything, very stubborn and don’t like to let anything have power over me. So streaming is another fear I deliberately expose myself to every week. Performing authentically as myself to an audience makes me want to vomit. I fear being perceived incorrectly and at any given moment, that can happen while streaming. And with my friends, I am nothing if not my truest self so it makes it even scarier.

I’m trying to be more brave but for myself this time. I’m trying to allow myself to be vulnerable with strangers. To stop self-censoring or choosing the easy, safe answer out of fear of conflict or not being accepted. In a way, it’s about loosening the grip on control, or at least the idea of control. Because ultimately you cannot control how others perceive you. And if someone is going to dislike me, I’d rather they dislike me for me and not some made-up version.

So if you watch me and hear the screaming and whining sounds I make while playing scary games (not unlike Courage the Cowardly Dog, my hero) just know that, in a way, you are part of my exposure therapy. And I hope you too have a place where you can allow yourself to be scared and the encouragement to do the scary thing anyway.