text: My eyes slowly blink open. I’m awake. I try to move my arms and stretch, but I realize I can’t move at all. Ah, sleep paralysis. I’ve experienced this so many times before. What gruesome apparitions am I in for this time? My paralyzed eyes are fixated on the opposite site of the room, where the moonlight cascades in through the window and bathes the room in a twilight glow. A figure walks in from my peripheral vision and sits in the armchair in the corner. But this figure isn’t like the “shadow people” I normally see when I have sleep paralysis. In fact, she looks pretty familiar - holy shit, is that my mother?! She looks much younger than she did when she died six months ago. The hollow cheekbones and dark circles that her cancer gave her are gone. Instead, she looks just like she did in old photos I was looking at just the other day, from before I was born. I realize she’s holding a baby in her arms, rocking it and singing, though I can’t hear the words. I try to scream out to her, but I can’t make a sound. After a moment, she is gone. That vision left me nervous and breathless. I hope I can wake up soon. Suddenly, a figure skips in from the periphery. Then another. And another. They’re jumping from the bed to the chair to the nightstand. I can make out that it’s three small children, two boys and a girl. They look vaguely familiar but I can’t place from where. “The floor is lava!” the one that appears the oldest says. All three of them laugh, then run out of my peripheral vision and I can no longer see them. Alright then. That was weird. Three children is less creepy than the demonic figures I usually see when this happens, so I’ll take it. I’m still feeling out of breath from seeing my mom though. The figure of a young boy appears in my plane of view. He looks to be around 8 or 9. I can’t place who he is, but he looks so familiar that it makes me feel uneasy. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a shadowy figure - I can make out the shape of a man, but not much else. What I do know is that a sense of deep unease and fear has settled over my body. I see the figure go up the boy and push him down to the ground. The boy is struggling against him but the man is holding him down, his hands traveling down the boy’s body. I realize what’s about to happen and I want to close my eyes. I want to scream for help and I want to wake up. This is so much worse than anything I’ve experienced before during sleep paralysis. Just when I think I can’t handle it anymore, they are gone. What a relief. Maybe I’ll finally wake up now? No dice. Another figure walks into my vision. But this time, I know who it is. This apparition looks just like me in photos from high school. Clearly I was going through a grunge phase. I’m walking up to another figure at the other side of my visual field, close my periphery. I’m handing him what looks like a wad of cash. Even from here, I can see the tremor in my hands. He reaches back to give me something in return but before I can see what it is, both figures are gone. This is getting weird. I’m finding it harder to breathe. Finally, something comforting appears. A tall woman with long, flowing chestnut hair strides into my vision. Right away, I can tell it’s Molly. God, I always did love that hair of hers. She’s in a white dress and she’s holding a bouquet. A second figure joins her - it’s me. I’m in a tuxedo but my hair is disheveled. The sight of this fills me with regret. I was drunk and high that day and she somehow forgave me for it. Forgave me for being drunk and high on our wedding day. The two figures lean in to kiss but before their lips meet, they’re gone. My motionless eyes are welling up with tears. Why is this still going on? Sleep paralysis has never lasted this long for me before. More scenes flash in front of my eyes, each one shorter than the last. Showing Molly my 6 month Narcotics Anonymous chip. We embrace. Finding out she’s pregnant, joy lighting up our faces. Standing next to our little girl’s bed in the neonatal ICU, after she was born at 22 weeks. A grief-stricken Molly walking away from me for the last time because I just couldn’t handle it. Mom in a casket. Picking up the bottle again. I try to scream at myself not to do it, but the sound just won’t come out. My eyes are welling up with tears, but I can’t blink them away. And I can’t breathe. Why can’t I breathe?! And all of a sudden, a sense of overwhelming peace fills my mind and body. Thank God that horror show is over. My eyes, no longer immobile, blink away the tears. I look around the bed. Next to me is an empty prescription bottle. I squint to read the words. “LORAZEPAM 0.5 MG.” Didn’t I just get that filled yesterday? My eyes dart to the side and I see the empty bottle of wine. I smell the vomit. And then nothing.