My parents never believed me what I was 2, when I would wake them in a state of hysteria, trembling and covered in sweat. They would just put me back to bed.
My parents would never believe me when I was 5, what I would frantically explain the incomprehensible noises I heard coming from underneath my floor. Instead, they would tell me it was the sound of the floorboards shifting in the wind.
My parents never believed me when I was 7,when I relayed to them the messages the voices would tell me. Instead they just told me I need more sleep.
My parents never believed me when I was 9, when I would wake up with cute on my arms and chunks of hair pulled out of my head. Instead, they told me I merely did it in my sleep.
My parents never believed me when I was 12, when I made eye contact with a grinning creature in my doorway, never breaking it for what seemed like hours until he slowly shut my door. Instead, they told me it was my imagination.
I never believed myself when I was 15, when their screams pierced the air like knives, turning from terror into pain. Instead, I told myself it was only the wind. Perhaps my imagination? Maybe I just needed more sleep.
Thinking back, I only remember one thing: I was smiling.
