I feel strange this time of year.
Nervous, full of apprehension. I love the pumpkins, the leaves, the sweets. Other things scare me; the fake gore, the spooking, the decorations meant to mimic death.
I have a hard time with it.
Maybe I associate this time of year with the melancholy that always haunted my father on the holiday, after my grandmother died on October 31st.
I also cannot separate myself from the memories of being raped this time of year. That fear that other people desire and pursue by going to haunted attractions follows me as I walk down a dark street this time of year.
I don’t notice it once November really gets going, or much before the second week of October. I wish I wasn’t aware of it at all.