The Journal of Sorrow Volume 1

Old Hag Syndrome

I really shouldn't have slammed that black shit Zach gave me.

Dillon lay motionless on his back. His soft mattress turned hard and uncomfortable. Nothing more to stare at than the white popcorn ceiling of his rundown apartment.

Another fucking episode. This crap was supposed to stop this from happening. Once I snap awake, Zach is dead.

Dillon was nearly a pro at recognizing when he was in the middle of a sleep paralysis episode. Over the years, he had tried every remedy to rid himself of the nightmares, but the only suppression he ever found was that of the hallucinations. Dillon was on some trial medication he received to prevent the hallucinations he usually experienced.

Nothing helped the actual sleep paralysis episodes, so Dillon got back on some heavier 'medications'. He'd been clean from heroine for a few months, but his dealer told him about some new stuff that would knock him out. Dillon was keen to see if they would help his paralysis; a few words from Zach about how the same stuff stopped his cousins was the push Dillon needed.

Of course, that overpriced tar wouldn't work. This shit was good, but it didn't prevent the one and only thing I bought it for. Now what? I get to stare at the fucking ceiling until these pass? Fantastic.

Dillon got accustomed to using his inner voice to keep himself occupied. There really wasn't much else he could do in that state. For however long it would take for the episode to pass meant Dillon could only stare at the ceiling and think.

Thirty-three, thirty-four, thirty-five.

Dillon played a game every time this moment happened. He counted each bump in his view and tried to beat his high score. It wasn't the greatest game he had played, but it kept him sane; he would stare for almost two hours on some nights.

One hundred. Holy shit, how long is this going to last? How long have I even been stuck? This stuff has done the exact opposite of why I got it. I wonder if Zach even understood what I was after. I feel like he thought I wanted some dope to trigger an episode and ride it out like some spiritual healing shit. Zach and his new fucking obsession with that spirituality nonsense is getting really fucking old.

The room grew chilly as more time had passed. Ticks of the room's clock felt like scratches on a chalkboard to his ears.

The only way I won't slip into insanity is to keep my mind busy. Okay, brain, let's see what you want to show me this time.

If the game of counting did not work, Dillon played another to stay sane. He became the observer and just let his thoughts play out. To do so, he would imagine himself on the bank of a river. Whatever imagery came into the forefront of his mind, he would just allow it to be there. He wouldn't react or respond, no matter the type of cognition; positive or negative. This was a technique told by his therapist on how to handle all the crazy, uncomfortable, and painful thoughts that ravaged his mind. If he just allowed them to be there and observed while accepting their presence, Dillon could break away from how they haunted him.

With nothing else to do but think and allow the episode to pass, Dillon softened his mind. He could only close his eyes, and so he did. Taylor, his older sister, was the first thought. Dillon immediately felt the weight of stress bear down on him. Remembrance of what the morning held raced through his mind. History repeats itself and although Dillon had been clean for nearly a year, he had relapsed the month prior and fell even deeper into depression. This round of dope was his last high and one he hoped would have granted him a much needed restful night's sleep. Taylor, his successful and loving sister, was going to take him back to rehab the next day.

Not the night I was hoping for. In fact, this shit isn't even that great. The peak was nice and relaxing, but it just didn't stand out from any other. What's worse is that it's made tonight's terror worse and I'm locked in my mind with no end in sight.