I was never one for socializing. Even as a child, I preferred to keep to myself, lost in my own world of books and movies. As I got older, my introversion turned into something more sinister: social anxiety.
I couldn’t handle being around people. Every time I had to leave the house, my heart would start pounding, my palms would get sweaty, and I would feel like I was about to vomit. I couldn’t make eye contact with anyone, couldn’t hold a conversation. It was like I was trapped in my own body, a prisoner to my own fears.
College was no different. I tried to make friends, but every time I went to a party or a social gathering, I would end up hiding in a corner, trying to blend in with the wallpaper. The more I tried to force myself to be social, the worse my anxiety got.
And then, things started to happen in my apartment. At first, it was small things, like objects moving on their own, or strange noises coming from the walls. But as time went on, it became more sinister.
I started seeing things out of the corner of my eye, shadowy figures darting around the edges of my vision. Every time I walked into a room, I could feel a presence watching me, lurking just out of sight. And every night, I would wake up to find my bedroom door open, even though I always made sure to lock it before going to bed.
I knew something was wrong, but I didn’t want to tell anyone. I was afraid they would think I was crazy, that they would judge me or laugh at me behind my back. So I kept it to myself, and the thing in my apartment grew stronger.
My anxiety reached a fever pitch. I could barely leave my apartment, could barely function. And the thing in the shadows only made it worse. Every time I walked into a room, I could feel its eyes on me, boring into me like a drill. I could feel its breath on the back of my neck, its cold fingers trailing down my spine.
I started to feel like I was going insane. I couldn’t tell what was real and what wasn’t. I would see things that couldn’t possibly be there, hear voices that weren’t really speaking. And the thing in the shadows, it was always there, watching me, waiting for me to slip up.
One night, I couldn’t take it anymore. I was sitting in my room, the walls closing in on me, the thing in the shadows watching me. I felt like I was suffocating, like I was trapped in a nightmare that I couldn’t wake up from.
And then, something snapped. I grabbed a knife from my kitchen and started tearing apart my room, slashing at the walls, the furniture, anything I could get my hands on.
When I was done, I collapsed onto the floor, panting and covered in sweat. And that’s when I saw it. The thing in the shadows, standing in the corner of my room, watching me with its glowing eyes.
I don’t remember what happened after that. All I know is that I woke up in a hospital bed, my arms and legs restrained. The doctors told me I had a psychotic break, that I had attacked someone in a fit of delusion.
But I know the truth. The thing in the shadows, it’s still out there, watching me. Waiting for me to slip up again. And I don’t know how much longer I can hold on.
So if you’re reading this, please, heed my warning. Don’t let your fears and anxieties consume you. Don’t let the shadows take hold. Because once they do, there’s no going back.