I read it years ago, and I thought it would be this huge mind raping book (I was at the peak of baby's first existential crisis) and while it had some interesting insights (like the whole nightmare spectacular bit) it really gets stupid with nonsensical Freudian shit and it feels like the guy was just writing stuff to fluff up the book.
Like that time he said feet were so ugly we do everything to hide from them, because it reminds us of our animal nature. Or that other time where he started talking about castration anxiety and penis this vagina that someone passed out on Rome, or all those times he goes on about how poop and pooping are awful, or that one thing about homosexuality. Honestly I forgot like 90% of the book. He, like that Solomon guy who shills Terror Management Theory, sounds like a low-test anxiety ridden jumble of nerves.
So no, it didn't freak me out. Neither did On The Heights of Despair, or The Last Messiah, or The Conspiracy Against the Human Race, or Better Never to Have Been, or 2 Arms and a Head.
The wave of pure, perfect terror that approaches what UG Krishnamurti described as his calamity and which changed my life forever and sent me on a years long depression, as well as a never-ending struggle with the fear of non-existence, the weight of futility, and the cold indifference of an empty universe came about as I was reading TV Tropes.