shadow men

by admin

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I have never had easy sleep patterns, finding it hard to settle my mind at night I drowned myself in work and television and games, alcohol and… Lizzie. A few months after meeting her… After that night it started to get worse. I would stay up for days on end only laying next to her to pretend to sleep. It made her feel better, maybe so she didn’t have to worry about me anymore the only tale of my sleepless nights were the dark circles that bruised my eyes.

Hypnagogic Hallucinations, it’s a form of seeing things that aren’t really there. When half asleep, be it falling or waking, things get fuzzy and shadows turn into monsters so easily. It occurs in patients who have sleep disorders such as insomnia, somnambulism and in some cases people with mental disorders. None of these things ran in my family, my mind was fine… That was it was fine, before. A tragic event can spark something in a person’s head, like snapping twigs one minute they are whole and the next some big force comes in and that’s it. Two halves instead of a whole.

It started with things seeping out of the shadows, first eyes then a hand almost as if it were reaching out for me. To take me somewhere… or do something to me. These first few hallucinations were brushed off as a lack of sleep, things playing tricks with my mind… But when it started to happen while I was out with Lizzie, lunch at a cafe, a walk through the zoo… That’s when I started to pay more attention.

First it was the shadow men, or so they seemed like men. Tall and slender with eyes and limbs that twisted in such weird ways. They never really moved only stayed deep in their shadowy corners watching me. Then things started to move… Or so it seemed they would move. First it was the coffee table, settled in front of me as I watched television… Just with a close of my eyes it was across the room, remotes, magazines and ashtray still in place on it’s surface. Like something out of a ghost story, I stood up to push it back into place only to slam my leg into the edge of a coffee table that had never actually moved in the first place.

I couldn’t explain the things I was seeing, not clearly enough for her to understand. I was not on drugs and the doctors couldn’t find anything wrong with me, they labeled me as a PTSD victim and offered pills to which  I first refused.