I've felt like a little kid: irrational, scared of the dark, afraid to sleep over at anyone's house lest I humiliate myself.
My shrink reminds me to take the clonazepam he’s prescribed to help during times like this. I nod and say, “Sounds great,” but I don’t plan on doing it. Why do anything that helps?
Sleep paralysis, night terrors, waking dreams -- is it possible that sometimes it's something spookier?
I don’t mean dreams in which I lose my job or am broken up with unceremoniously. I mean blood-soaked hellscapes populated by a cast of sadistic and morally disfigured villains.