When I was 10 I watched Poltergeist at a friend’s birthday sleepover. That night I feared every rustle or hum of the house was the psycho clown making a move to strangle me. Would anyone hear me scream? Would I be able to fend him off? Should I wake the others? I lay frozen, heart pounding and breathing in shallow bursts, fervently wishing I had devoted more time to acrobatics than books so I could deftly manoeuvre to the door without risking suffocation by a demonic stuffed toy.
You could not have convinced me that my life was not in danger that night (or, to be honest, for quite a few sleepless nights thereafter). It might seem a giggle now, but that kind of catastrophising isn’t confined to childhood – it’s a form of anxiety that can rise up at any life stage. And it
