Anxiety

Every night, it's the same dream. I always find myself all alone in a dark corridor. Always there is this feeling of dread whenever I find myself there. Always there is this feeling of an imminent yet invisible threat that I know—or, I don't know—is there. Always there. Always watching. Always waiting.

I always call out for someone—anyone. But in vain. I knew I was alone. I always was. I guess calling out was just my way of confirming it. I knew I was alone. I always was. But I really can't shake this ominous feeling that I wasn't.

The silence was deafening. Almost literally. It's as if the blackness of the dark corridor is threatening to swallow me whole. A yawning gaping maw that lets out so much power that I feel pressure build up in my ears and in my chest. I can't hear. I can't breathe.

I knew staying where I was would only worsen the feeling. Sure enough, when I took my first steps, I felt a gradual sense of ease wash over me. It was odd. I knew what I needed to do. I knew that taking those steps would lessen the pressure inside me but I just don't know why. What I knew though was that had I stayed where I was, whatever it was I sensed when I first arrived there will get me.

I groped my way in the darkness and soon enough, as if on cue, the corridor became dimly lit with this red light. Like the one you see in a darkroom—you know, the workshop where photographers develop their films into pictures. Anyway, I continued walking along the now crimson-lit corridor until I see a door. It was a light plastic door with a lockless knob and I opened it no problem and continued on until I see another one.

This time the door was of wood with a rusted knob and a chain lock. I undid the chain lock but the knob was so rusted I can't even get it to turn. Moments passed as I was trying to get the door to budge but it felt like hours. Little by little, I began to felt that sense of dread in me again and that feeling that someone—something—is watching me.

Whatever it was, it wasn't good. It was calling out to me. Reaching out to me. The corridor was gradually becoming black again and I felt once again this sense of dark power—this, this feeling of hopelessness. Panicking now, I forced turning the knob with all my might but I felt that I'm only doing so little to actually turn it.

The red light is almost gone and the darkness is once again taking over. I hit the door with my shoulders, forcing with all of my strength to open the door. I succeeded, but once again I cannot see. Once again, I cannot breathe. I sprinted, groping my way once again looking for that eerie red light that became a symbol of comfort for me.

After what seemed like an eternity I stopped. Don't get me wrong I wasn't tired. I might have sprinted for minutes or hours or days—I don't know—but I wasn't tired. What stopped me now was the feeling of an intense aversion towards my destination. An instinctive animal fear, if you will. I don't know, I just... I just felt that going to where I was going to was more dangerous. The red light was back although it was now more sinister. I looked around me. There was nothing. Nothing but the vast emptiness and what seemed like grimy concrete that makes the walls of this God-forsaken corridor.

Afraid, I pressed on. And all this time I walked I got this feeling that I was being watched, and that watcher was just behind me—no—beside me. I can almost feel its breath on my neck. It was urging me on.

The crimson light is getting darker once again and I see at the end of the corridor a steel door. I ran to it, hoping against hope that it was unlocked. It wasn't. Suddenly, all of my senses seemed to work in overdrive. I sensed it. I felt it.

It's here.

I tried to open the door but it had a deadbolt. I kept looking for the key but always there was none. Tears started to stream from my eyes and my panicking hands tried to turn the knob but to no avail. I tried pushing the door like I did the previous one but I know that that effort too is useless.

It's dark now. Pitch black. My first instinct was to run back to where I came from but I know there's no going back. Despair crept into me then. There was also no going forward. The darkness was going to swallow me. Or have already swallowed me—I don't know.

I woke up then. I was sweating and shaking.

I heard a rustle underneath my bed. Instantly, my still-shaken nerve cried in terror and I covered myself in sheets in a juvenile attempt to shield myself. The sensation of dread returned to me. It was dark—so dark. I closed my eyes for a while and when I opened them, I was back in the corridor.

It is at this time that I felt my sanity was slipping. I cannot tell anymore which is real: the corridor or my room. I remember my room, so that must be real right? What's frightening me though was how greatly detailed my memories of that corridor are. So... would that mean that that is real too?

And the monster... God, the monster. Awake or asleep, I feel its looming presence. Whether or not I open that steel door makes no difference. It has always been watching me—no, it's with me. It has always been with me and that's what scares me most. I cannot see it, but it's here alright.

It's in my head, you see, eating away at the remaining vestiges of my sanity.