Crazy, Cubed!

“Christ, not again!” Were the first words Jim thought when he woke.

He tried to move but knew it was useless before he tried. He could feel it, the weight of the covers upon him like a train resting on his chest, the tingling running up and down his entire body, as if every muscle inside him had fallen asleep at once. Even breathing was a struggle, he gasped for air desperately, trying with all his might and barely managing a few weak gasps of stale air.

“Please move! Please move!” His inner voice screamed and howled, his body struggling to move even a single muscle. One muscle, any muscle . . . that’s all it would take to free him!

“Come on, Jim, move!” Even inside his own head he could hear the fear in those words and his chest began to ache, closed eyes burning with tears he couldn’t shed because not even that simple function was working now. The only muscle that still functioned was his heart. He could feel it slamming against the front of his chest. Slamming so hard his ribs felt like they would crack from the force of it. With the hammering chest came the heat; the raging blaze of unchecked fear washed across him and every pore spewed forth what seemed an ocean of oily, bitter, sweat. He tried to scream. He begged God, and every other benevolent power he’d ever heard tell of, for the ability to scream. One sound, one motion, would free him. Just one . . .

Then the Demon came.

It came, just like it always did. He felt it at the foot of his bed. He could hear it breathing, smell the stale sulfur of its skin, and feel its hunger as it watched him lie there, helpless. Jim’s bladder swelled, threatening to burst free and stain his underwear and mattress. He wanted –shit, needed!- to open his eyes and see the Demon but it was beyond him. All he could do was pray as the Beast’s claws touched the tips of his toes and began to move slowly up his frozen legs. He could feel the burning darkness of them. Each inch they stole higher on his legs Jim’s terror rose and his inner voice wailed and pleaded for mercy . . . for help . . . for death, if that would make it all go away! His bladder gave way when the talons reached his knees and he could hear the Fiend’s malicious laugh of pleasure as it caught the scent of the boy’s terror through the blankets . . .

Sounds like an opening to one of my stories, doesn’t it? (Not a bad one either, if I do say so!) Sad thing is: that it’s not. This is how every morning of my life began, for as far back as I can remember. When I was a kid, I pissed the bed till I was nearly thirteen. My folks didn’t understand: I had four older brothers, none of whom had ever had the problem. They constantly asked what the problem was but how could I tell them? Did I let them know the Demon came to steal my soul every night? Hell, even then I knew that folks who saw Demons were a special brand of crazy! Instead I just sat there, silently, face flushed with shame each day as they sought for an answer they never found.

Eventually, the bladder control grew and I could put that shame away, but the Demon kept coming. Not every night I guess, but regularly enough that I dreaded going to bed at night. I’d stay awake as long as I could to keep him from coming back. Through my teens and early twenties I dreaded sleep. This continued until I met The Wife. The woman saved me from a loony bin, though she never knew it. I never mentioned any of this to her. Oh, she knows I hate when she doesn’t come to bed with me but I never went into detail about why. A few posts back I talked about how I still have nightmares when she’s not there, but I didn’t talk about the details. Why? Cuz I figured I was crazier that a shit-house rat, that’s why! I thought I was the only person this happened to.

Well, this morning I stopped over at Lynn’s Blog and she was talking about something called “Sleep Paralysis”. You could have knocked me over with a feather when I read it. It had NEVER occurred to me that this might be a common ailment. I just blamed it on the insanely religious upbringing I had. (Ya’ know: Demons and all that!) Unbelievable.

I guess it doesn’t really mean anything . . . it’s not a disease and there’s nothing they can do about it, but I can’t tell you what a relief it is to know I’m not just nuts. Seriously, I have believed for most of my life that I had a serious mental problem and I was afraid to talk to anyone about it. (Sounds stupid, I know, but would YOU run about telling folks Demons visited your bedroom every day?) It’s minor in the scope of my life but I suddenly feel a lot better about myself today.

Thank you, Lynn. That post meant a lot to me.

Okay, enough crazy for one day. I’m outta here!

Later!