On How Freddy Krueger Saved My Life, My Dad's Second Wife was a Twat and the Role Horror has Played in my Life.

Horror is my thing. It's always been my thing. Since I can remember, I've been fascinated by monsters, murderers and the gory demise that one could reach at the hands of such.

But never in real life. Oh, no. Never. In fact, I am a grown man who can't stand real blood. I have been known to faint at the sight of it. In film, books, media... I can't get enough.

The reality is that I am a 220 pound man who can't get blood drawn without taking an extra half hour to "collect" myself at the doctor's office, but can handle some hapless victim be eviscerated by a tentacled creature in the most vile of ways in books and films without batting a lash.

What the hell is it all about? I often wonder myself. Furthermore, how can someone in my line of work, where I process the real horrors of the world with people every day? I mean, the books and films I enjoy, often hold tenets of my 9-5...things like rape, murder and brutality are all apart of my WORK. Not to mention the state of our world...Why would I want to continue to submerge myself on horror in my off time?

I can't truly answer this.

But I can theorize. And oh, I do.

I'm drawn to the macabre, surreal,and spooky for much of the same reason I think many are: it's less harrowing than reality.

In discussion, I have often referred to Freddy Krueger as my "Mickey Mouse" as a kid. And he literally was.

Like many working class children of the late 80s and 90s, I was raised by my television. My father worked two jobs and when he was around, he was tired. Much of our quality time was spent in front of the set. My mother, severely mentally ill. Needless to say, there was a lot of time where I parked my ass for hours in front of the tube with a sack of Doritos and watched countless heads get lopped off.

Often, my fondest childhood memories of warmth and comfort, revolve around horror...and snacks. I suppose my snacking and weight loss is a topic for another blog...but anyway...

The earliest exposure that I can remember to horror was age 3. Mind you, I have a pretty good memory of my younger years, seems to be better, much more vivid, than most.

Nightmare on Elm Street 4: The Dream Master had just been released on home video. It was in the height of "Freddy Frenzy", with box office phenomenon cranking, pop songs featuring Robert England, T-shirts, stickers, his own TV show.. Freddy was truly a pop icon; it was 1989 and the guy was everywhere.

Anyway, the movie came out on video and there was a colossal poster featured in my local video store, a fairly large regional chain called Major Video, who would later be bought out by Blockbuster, promoting the tape. In hindsight, it makes perfect sense if you see the poster for the film. Knowing what I know about Child Psychology, it's a pretty obvious thing that this would appeal to a 3 year old boy. It's vibrant colors of swirly yellows and pinks, the villainous claw of Freddy, the angelic eyes of Alice and the bright lights of a hundred car pile up in a junkyard. It almost screams "I AM A COMIC BOOK! SEE ME! SEE ME!".

Well, I saw the advert and just had to SEE IT, SEE IT. And see it, I did. The first movie I ever remember seeing was that one. We rented the tape.

I don't remember much about that initial viewing, but I remember my mother's disdain that I was watching, my father's adamant protest that I knew it was a movie, and the feeling of pure fascination. One scene where a victim is turned into a cockroach and eventually crushed by Freddy's life-sized roach motel particularly stuck with me. I was hooked. Then and there. I needed all the Freddy I could get.

All the horror I could get, actually, because  the viewings of Halloweens and Friday The 13ths and Night of the Demons movies came shortly after. And I was obsessed. I was ranting to family members, friends at preschool, perfect strangers, at age 3 and 4 about all of the wonderful gore and sex and villanous ghouls I caught on VHS, while I was often redirected, and in hindsight, rightfully, to something more appropriate. Something like Superted or Ghostbusters. Four year old Brandon was not having it.

Now, I am not shit talking my parents here, but the reality is my mother has been mentally disabled for 2/3s of my life and my father has been high for about that amount of time as well. It's just the reality of the situation. And some of the more mentally sound caregivers in my life,   obviously, found my obsession with Horror films and books (which came around 6, when I read my father's copy of Pet Semetary), either spooky, perverse or neglectful on their behalf. Many an aunt, teacher or grandparent spoke loudly their disdain for my childhood fascination with horror.

But that was just too damn bad.

Because my tempertantrums persevered every time anyone tried to feed me The Little Mermaid or 101 Dalmatians. They could howl loudly, but not as loud as me.

Shit, my dad's second wife told both me and him that she thought I'd become a serial killer because of my taste for the grue.

But here I am. Not a serial killer. Ya crooked bitch. In fact, I am a therapist who works exclusively with children, adolescents and young adults, with a Master's Degree in Clinical Social Work. I am an adjunct professor with a Certificate of Graduate Studies in Childhood Trauma.

Far from a serial killer, ya ol' crooked bitch. :).

And it wasn't just a phase. It's an engrained part of my life. From age 3 to 31, Horror has been the only constant. You could ask any of my friends or close family about me...and one of the first things they'd mention is my passion for the genre. I still am, and always will, be obsessed with the stuff. The good, the bad, and the awful.

Given my line of work, I have overanalyzed every behavior that is in my life. Duh.

So that leads me to explore "Why Horror?" What is the appeal? Why do I obsess?

It's pretty simple. It's escapist. It's much less terrifying than reality. It's brought me comfort in times when nothing else could. It was there for me when nothing and noone else was.

Also, fuck analysis. I love horror. We don't need to break it all down to some mental health flaw attributed to my messed up childhood. There is utility in horror for all of society. It teaches about ourselves, about who we are, what we fear...and in a way that's much safer than true exposure.

To bring it home, I love horror. For a myriad of reasons. Horror was a third parent,  best friend and has introduced me to some of the kindest people I have ever met. Horror even is playing a huge part in my marriage...we probably wouldn't be a THING if we both didn't dig the genre. It doesn't mean I'm a degenerate. Or that I'm going to "grow up" to be a serial killer. It means I have a hobby that has saved me a thousand times. It has shown me a tremendous sense of community. It has been the bond of countless relationships.

So, what utility does Horror have for you? What has it done for your development?

Also, major fuck you to my dad's second wife.

Also, also, I feel there were demonizing components to this blog towards my parents. Incorrect. I love them both and respect their decision to allow me, as a toddler, to explore my interests, as bizarre as they may have been.

State your case!
Brandon.