It's All in Your Head

Journals

•Y/N: Your Name
•L/N: Last Name
•E/C: Eye Color

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Your POV:
Eight Years Later
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'Why is life so damn difficult?' This is a question I find myself asking daily. Why, though? Why do I always ask myself this? Well, because I'm f***ing terrified of every, little thing!

Wouldn't you after you've been tormented since nine? It's dreadful. I haven't had a peaceful rest in so long. I can't even take naps without getting trapped in a twisted nightmare. A shaky sigh escapes my lips as my foot repeatedly taps against the white, tiled floor of the waiting room.

Currently, I'm waiting to have a word with my therapist, Mrs. Williams. I have an appointment with her at least once a week for these awful dreams I keep getting. Ever since I started running my mouth about that monster that's been haunting me for the past few years, my parents decided to send me to her in hopes she'll be able to help, but nothing she said worked. Nothing has changed. I still don't know why they insist I keep coming here.

I'm not crazy, right? I can't be! I shouldn't be! No paranoia can't be this bad... Or, can it? According to Mrs. Williams, my fears have manifested into a monster inside my own mind, that it's merely a vivid hallucination. Her solution is always to "fight your fears". That's the moral of each session.

Ha... What a load of bulls***.

Don't get me wrong, I actually believed her at first. I did things that'd help me face my worst fears, but in the end, things had only gotten worse. Mrs. Williams suggested I start small by sleeping without a nightlight. You want to know what happened that night? I dreamt that I was in a dark room with no windows or doors.

All I could see were multiple, white eyes, similar to the creature's, surrounding me. The little beasts ate me alive while laughing hysterically the entire time. From then on, I've slept with all my lights on. It's not like that helped any, though. That... That thing would always shut them off before appearing.

When I informed Mrs. Williams about the experiment's failure, she said to aim higher, pick something that frightens me more than the darkness, so I rode a roller coaster at a local amusement park... It did not end well later that night. The nightmare I had involved me getting stuck on a frightening roller coaster that went on and on without an end. The worst bits were the hundred story drops. Then, there was the end just before I woke up, where the cart went down the tallest drop and into the mouth of a giant version of the creature that hides in my room. I shiver at the memory, gripping my arms tightly with a pale face. Every single nightmare had been etched into my brain like a story. Oh, speaking of stories, Mrs. Williams had suggested that I keep a dream journal, so that she could see just how dreadful each nightmare was. She is always surprised by the exquisite details because, apparently, it isn't normal to know every little aspect of every dream you get.

"Keith Briggs," calls Mrs. Williams herself. A boy, who looks around my age, with strawberry blonde hair and hazel eyes stands up from the seat across from me. He must be the one they've called. He's new, I'm sure of it, for I recognize every other face in the waiting room. He has soft features, faint freckles all over his cheeks and the bridge of his nose, and dark shadows beneath his dull eyes.