I absolutely hate sleeping alone. I’ve never cared for it much, but it became a real phobia of mine after the prank my uncle pulled after we watched that Grudge and he put the walkie talkie under my bed and made the noise as I was going to bed. That was a horrible night. After that day I always tried to sleep in Bubba’s room, then my parents split up and we both kind of needed the constant company of each other. Not too long after that I moved out, only being 16 and in the early stages of pregnancy, and moved in with the father of my first child. Everything was okay at first, but then I caught him cheating and everything went downhill very fast. A few weeks after that incident he went to work out of town so we could save as much money as possible for the baby. It was horrible, having a gut feeling he was still cheating but being powerless. I had to give his grandfather, who we were staying with, gas money to take me to school everyday. My friends tried to be there for me as much as possible but they didn’t exactly know what to do or say, and neither did I. One of my best friends tried convincing me to leave him, promising me it wasn’t because he wanted me for himself but rather he could see what road I was headed down and was quite scared for me. Being pregnant and sleeping alone for months at a time was horrible, and if given the chance I would have opted for any sort of human contact at that point. It’s still hard for me to fathom the idea of sleeping alone although I am twenty years old and could probably manage if I had to. I’m still scared of the dark; none of the methods my uncle tried worked just made them worse. Putting on a mask and opening my door in the middle of the night and making some horrible noise, shutting me in a closet until I stop crying, etc. I’m pretty sure these were forms of torture and not what he tried to justify them as. The dark always has, and probably always will, terrify me.