Happy Halloween Meltdown

So, let me tell you about the time I had a not so small, emotional meltdown in a haunted house.

With my future sister-in-law, Sonia, leaving this week to head back to China to begin her fiancé visa process, we figured we'd do a little Halloween send off for her recently. And as my wise husband states "what says "so long America" quite like paying $10 to have a bunch of scary looking rednecks chase you through dark hallways?" Nothing, folks. There's nothing quite like the haunted house experience no matter where you call home or what language you speak. Fear needs no subtitles.

My family loves to be scared. We like scary movies, haunted houses, and I still, to this day, find no greater joy than to jump out at someone while yelling "boo". It happens to the poor Hubs more than he'd like. I even hide and jump out at our poor poodle. It's in my veins, man, and I pray I never out grow it. I swear we will have conversations like this in our home some day:
Future mini-berg: "Dad, there's something under my bed!"
Hubs/ Dad-berg: "Yes, there is son, but don't be scared. It's just your mom waiting to yell "Boo" the minute you climb in. Just dive in so she can't grab your ankles."

So, with that being said, we bundled up and headed to the local "Screamatorium". And scream we did. Or at least I did. I screamed so long and so hard that I was physically nauseous the entire ride home. Well, and the fact that I ate Thai food right before we ran and screamed and stumbled through a dark and disturbing building. Thai food is never a good idea before an activity like that. I can now say that last sentence with great and utter confidence.

Where the whole event went south was upon the appearance of the first chainsaw. I. Don't. Do. Chainsaws. Like, to my very core of who I am, I do not do them. I get it. I know they're not real. I just don't care. It's a fight or flight situation when I hear the first engine rev. I now can also say with great confidence, if I'm ever in a true fight or flight situation, falling straight into a fetal position is not a good option. Fetal does not get you any closer to the fight or the flight response. You just become bait. And I became a screaming, sweaty, heart palpitating, nauseated heap of chainsaw bait. And they took it. Every daggum time. For what felt like hours. Give me clowns, blood, ghouls, etc... But, for the love, do not give me chainsaws.

I knew I had crossed the line from scared to meltdown when I began running in circles and screaming for my brother and Sonia to "get me out right NOW!" I vaguely remember my brother trying to point me in the right direction, but by then, I was a lunatic, running into the same walls I had just hit 5 times before trying to escape the now multiple chainsaws. And I remember seeing my mom switch from a "having fun, haunted house go'er" to protective mom-mode near the end when I was a complete mess and she just stopped and held open her arms to get me out safely. It got that ugly, friends. These saws were in every single room. And there were a lot of rooms. Apparently those so called "rednecks" are smart because they were on to me like white on rice. I had them coming from every direction.

It was all just too much. I would've paid $100 never to have to go through that house again. After I finally broke away from the last chainsaw psychopath, my feet did not stop running until I hit fresh air and dirt. I just ran. Alone. Every man for themselves, people. Hubs was still inside, but I did not care. I was maxed out.

And with full and utter confidence yet again, I can say that if my running-loving Hubs wants me to run a race with him in the future, he need only to have someone waiting around the starting line with a chainsaw. Once I get the courage to climb out of the fetal position, I'll smoke everyone in my path. Believe it. Ironman Chainsaw Massacre? I got that one in the bag for sure.