Monsters In My Night

I come home from another mundane, unenthusiastic, predictable, and completely boring day of work. As soon as I step out of my car to enter my apartment, rain starts to pour. This kind of weather isn't unusual for where I live, but it is unexpected.
     I climb up the first flight of stairs. Two more to go. Each step gets harder and harder to take. They take more and more energy out of me. So close. A little bit longer. For what felt like eternity, I finally reach my front door. I pull out a large chain of keys out of my pocket. I don't even know what half the keys are suppose to go to. They have no purpose besides weighing me down. It takes me a while to find the one I actually need. I insert the key into the lock of my door, but the lock is jammed as usual.
     As I keep aggressively trying to unlock my door, a few others in the hallway outside their apartments start to stare at me. I can feel their judgement seeping into me like a sponge. It hurts. I'm able to unlock it after nearly snapping the key.
     After all the struggle I just went through, all I want to do is rest. I enter the mess of my apartment. I expected more of a safe haven. I'm so exhausted at this point that I don't eat dinner or brush my teeth or dress into sleepwear. I just slam myself onto my rock hard bed.
     I feel super sleepy, but I can't fall asleep. Perhaps it's because the light fixture is still on. I want to turn it off, but I don't have the energy. It feels like lifting multiple weights just to get up and walk to the light switch. I flip the switch, and I walk to my bed through the darkness. Enjoying the peacefulness of the room, I lay down and take a deep breathe.
     Seconds later, I feel a hand clench onto me. I open my eyes to see the enemy, but I can't see it. I can't find the source. I need to turn on the lights. I stand up from my bed. More and more cold hands tug on me. I struggle to walk to the light switch. They are pulling at me so hard. They are pulling at my skin. I resist their strength and made it to the switch which I slap in mercy. The lights are on, and there is nothing to be seen. Nothing but the bedroom.
     I look down onto my self. I panic. I am covered in blood and scratches. I rush to the bathroom to clean up. I am still in shock of the previous events. I'm in pain. My skin hurts. All I need and want is sleep.
     I go to the bedroom which now felt like some sort of crime scene. Not the same feel. I place my shaking hands on the light switch. I am reluctant to press it. I turn them off anyway. I was expecting the hands to come back. They didn't. I go to my bed. Although the hands are gone, the scratches and scars are piercing with pain. I sleep.
     The next morning, I don't feel good. My skin hurts, and I feel traumatized. I don't want to wake up, but I have to go to work. I replace my bloody clothes. I have scars everywhere, but there is nothing I can do about it. When I am at work, everybody seems to notice the scars, but they don't seem to care. They stare. They judge. They don't care. I finish my day at work, and the process repeats.