I had a little epiphany when I was in the shower last night.
If you’re not sure what epiphany means, google it.  It’s not what you think, dirty bird.

Anyway, maybe the reason why conventional Hollywood doesn’t provide scares any more is that I’m scarred.

Not to brag or anything, think about it.   I went through a type of mental hell where I ceaselessly tortured and denied myself while causing misery to everyone around me.   I fully expected to die.  In a way, I was looking forward to the release.

I physically degraded myself until ‘skeletal’ was probably the best adjective to describe my body.  My skin was so thin that even the lightest brush of a branch would bring red.  My arms had persistent red spots from where blood leaked from the veins.  This did not alarm me in the slightest.    Actually, I found it fascinating.

I was put into a detention center (the House) where I was force-fed while, essentially, the caretakers attempted to reprogram and brainwash me.  Jason was evil incarnate.   God was good and there was a strong push for me to study to become a priest by the lady in charge.   They inhibited what I wrote, read, drew, and watched.

Everything needed to be safe for consumption as I, in theory, couldn’t trust myself.

I have a small laundry list of things that are wrong, potentially fatal later in life, and a team of doctors.  Yes, an actual team.   My doctors range from an allergist, to a cardiologist, to a hematologist.  I have a cancer doctor, foot doctor, a bone doctor, and two psychologists.  That’s not to mention the usual doctors like dentists and general practitioners.    I’m sure I’m forgetting someone.

So, after all of that – all of my tests, operations, brainwashing, mental and physical abuse, what does the world of conventional horror hold for me that I’m not fairly to intimately acquainted with?

Unless I go extreme and pay someone to hold my head underwater, I feel pretty set.
I’ve had my fill of enough crap in my life, thank you.  When watching it, I relate.  I don’t scare.   I don’t get that nice deep oooohhhh moments that speed up the heart and provide the fluff for nightmares.   There probably isn’t anything that would put me off from eating spaghetti (cept for the carbs).

It’s kind of scary that I’ve reached this point.

Is what it is, I guess?

…  This kind of sucks.