I have never been a fan of horror movies, true crime, or gore. I don’t like being scared or startled. But recently, I’ve actually gone out of my way to avoid it. To shelter myself from it.

My husband is a fan of horror. He and his sister can have casual conversations about programs she watches about real live serial killers that live next door to unsuspecting people. He talks about articles he reads of people butchering each other, Their mouths are agape, but I get the feeling a piece of them actually gets a thrill from it.

Another example: my husband is a HUGE fan of “The Walking Dead”. I watched the first episode, and after the second instance of blood spurting, I gave up. I can’t even sit in the room when he watches it, because the “wet sounds” actually make me gag.

I used to be able to watch programs like “Nip/Tuck” and “Criminal Minds”, maybe because a part of me was interested in the character development and story. But recently, I actually have to leave the room if these things are on.

I am a very visual person. So much so that, even a few minutes of obviously fictionalized violence can play havoc with my dreams. The best example of this was a long time ago, there was a commercial for a movie called “Saw”. My husband explained the premise to me, and that night I had a vivid dream.

In the dream I remember waking up with a pounding headache on a dilapidated sofa, and, looking to my right, saw a gouged-up coffee table with a knife laying on top of a hand-scribbled note that said “turn on tv”. I look over, and see a small black and white tv on the far end of the table. I turn it on, and, at first, the reception is fuzzy, and then it slowly clears and I see what looks like CCTV of my dog Ivan, strapped down on a metal table, his paw on a butcher block and a cleaver beside it. A gloved hand holds up a white card in the screen view that says “your pinkie, or his paw”. I then see the gloved hand put the card down, and lift the cleaver. Another gloved hand grabs Ivan’s paw and holds it tight on the butcher block. Ivan begins to whine. I realize that, in order to save my dog’s paw, I have to be willing to sacrifice my pinkie. And, for a moment, I am frozen, because I’m not sure I can cut off my own finger. And, as if someone could see me hesitate, the gloved hand holding Ivan’s paw jerks his arm and raises the cleaver again and Ivan yelps. I burst into tears and scream…

…and woke up in a sweat, crying my eyes out.

Now, that was from my husband explaining the premise of a horror film to me. The premise being: how much pain are you willing to sacrifice to save another, and how much pain are you willing to inflict to save yourself?

That was years ago, and Ivan is long gone, but the day we brought him to the vet to give him some peace from his pain, I thought to myself, “I would cut off my hand if I thought it would make you better, and keep you alive.” It was that haunting of a dream that, even on his death bed, I remember my indecision.

Having said all that, I do like murder mysteries. But I like the English ones where they don’t show blood and are just slightly melodramatic. Ones that give a bit of a wink to the fact that they are manufactured. I love “Murder She Wrote” for that reason. And all Conan Doyle and Agatha Christie. They made you think, but they didn’t spook you with the violence. “Columbo“, too. And I like books by Tamar Myers and Janet Evanovich that touch upon the theme, but only in a “cuddled-in-a-comforter-sipping-tea-with-a-cat-in-your-lap” kind of way.

I wonder what has made me so extra sensitive to violence and horror and gore, lately. It’s one of the main reasons I stopped watching tv a year ago. And why I pick my viewing content with streaming media very carefully.

Are there things you just can’t be around? What brings you comfort?