i prayed every night for three years
i plugged in my headphones, played soothing classical music, lay awake long enough to hear the playlist again, and again, and again
i’d wake up hours later, stiff in every limb, barely able to blink, less able to swallow
i’d see someone too tall for my bedroom, lingering in the corner
i don’t think he ever cared about me, he may have been just keeping watch
but he was there, staring into my body, smirking
i could see him, and i would recite the entire Catholic mass, twice or three times, anything to keep him as deep in that corner as i could make him. i can’t remember much of his reaction, only that my focus kept him away - he’d sink deeper and deeper into the corner, eventually becoming mere shadow - I’m not sure, I only know I’d pray and pray and pray and pray and recite every obscure phrase, every latin nonsense I wasn’t even sure I believed, just to be safe in my bed, movement restored, able to breathe, able to sink back into sleep.
I know now about sleep paralysis, and how dreamlike hallucinations can creep into your waking consciousness. I’ve since been prescribed melatonin, then quetiapine - any anti-psychotic that would do its job, send me sleeping, keep me sleeping, dreams be damned
but he’s still here
even when I’ve woken up - even when sun blights my small flat adjacent to the family home. even when I’ve stopped praying. Even when loved ones shared my bed in different cities - when I could look over at her, and adore the way her hair fell, the way her face relaxed, the way her hand crept to her jaw and curled itself just so - and I was the happiest I ever thought I could feel
he’s still here
even when I was kinda thriving at work, or unemployed and desperate for help; even when I was sober for months, thinking I was really on the up, really ready to improve myself; or endlessly drunk for months, ready to give up, ready to run away or unalive, or cease any idiotic stress on my friends and family and just fucking leave it, leave anyone who ever cared about me and let them breathe easy without worrying about me, unburden them with the whole ordeal of my living;
it doesn’t fucking matter, no state of my life has ever been without this fucking guy in the corner
he’s still here, maniacal, limbs long, body taut - I cant even see his smirk, but I can feel it if that makes sense? there’s this horrific tension and this strange sense that I can only describe as being the butt of a joke - I don’t know what the joke is, but he seems to find it hysterical, and he’s here every single night
he might be getting closer - he was in my face last night
if I catch myself daydreaming, I can make out the whites of his eyes
anyone got any tips?