I assume that those who are here know what sleep paralysis is.
For those like my wife, who have never experienced it,
this condition, known where I come from as “a dead climbing on you”,
is that moment when you are already awake,
but your body refuses to respond.

You can hear.
You can feel.
If you try hard enough, you can even see sometimes.

What you absolutely cannot do is control something that has always belonged to you:
your body.

According to the scientific explanation, this happens when you do not rest properly.
Your mind wakes up before your body does.

So no, there is no demon sitting on your chest.
It is not the devil pulling your legs.
It is not some astral projection gone wrong where your soul failed to return.

Your brain is simply malfunctioning because you are sleep deprived.

At least, that is the theory.

I can support that theory because this condition has followed me for as long as I can remember.

And I sleep terribly.

My routine is usually two or three days sleeping three or four hours,
followed by one day sleeping at least six,
which I call my “rest night”.

I have had many experiences with this, and I have never really complained.
In fact, it happens so often that I already have an exit strategy.

But today, at almost thirty years old,
was the first time I felt real fear.

It was not something I saw.
It was not anything paranormal.
There were no voices in my head.

It was my own existential dread pulling the strings.
It was my own mind giving itself permission to imagine the worst possible outcomes.
It was me.

As usual, I had been sleeping only a couple of hours for two days.

That morning, I lay down on the couch next to my wife for our coffee and TV ritual,
something we allow ourselves every now and then.

It was a show we had already watched,
so I was far more prepared to fall asleep than to watch it.

And that is exactly what happened.

I drifted off for about ninety minutes until she paused the episode and went to the bathroom.

I have never really investigated why,
but I usually start dreaming when I am about to wake up and I am extremely tired.

Maybe it is something common.
I will talk about that another time.
But that is what happened.

Without fully waking up,
I realized my wife had left,
and the dreams began.

Honestly, I do not remember any of them.

What I do remember is waking up.
And there we were again.
My body would not respond.

My breathing became agitated because,
even with experience,
I cannot avoid that initial panic.

But soon I understood what was happening and I relaxed.

Following my strategy,
I started moving my feet and hands,
as if signaling to my body that it was time to wake up.

Then I tried turning my body by moving my shoulders.
Usually this is the point where I manage to wake up.

This time was no exception.
I took a deep breath,
because it feels like my body forgets how to breathe during those moments.

But I did it.
I sat up on the couch and waited for my wife.

Then I noticed something.
I could not feel my body.
And that is always the sign that tells me:
“No. You are still asleep.”

The moment that thought crosses my mind,
I immediately snap back into reality,
like the power going out in the middle of a movie.

There I was again.

Lying on the couch.
My body still inert.

I restarted the strategy.
What else could I do?
Besides, it was not the first time I had woken up from a dream
only to realize I had been living inside another dream.

Feet.
Hands.
Shoulders.

Again, I regained control.
But this time I stood up.
I have realized that if I stay where I was,
I often fall asleep again
and fall right back into paralysis.

So, I walked to the dining room.
I drank some water.
Walked around the living room.
Finally my wife came out of the bathroom.

“Ready to go?” I asked her.

It was time to pick up our daughter from school.
She simply nodded.
I started the truck and we drove.

We arrived at the school, and I waited near the entrance.
The moment she saw me,
my daughter ran toward me like she always does.

“No. You are still not awake,” I told myself
when I could not feel her hug.

Once again,
I was on the couch.
In the exact same position.
As if nothing had happened.

Seven more times.
Seven more iterations where I would wake up,
do something,
and end up back on the couch.

Sometimes I did not even remember having paralysis.
I would simply wake up
and continue living my life.

During the last two iterations,
I knew.

I could not move through life calmly anymore
because I was not sure if I had actually woken up.

Until the final time on the couch.
There I was again.
My body inert.
Doing everything I could to avoid closing my eyes.

But this time I could feel it.

My body was responding.
I could feel the blanket brushing against my skin.
I could feel my feet pushing it as I moved.
I could feel my fingers moving.

My eyes were heavy,
but I could occasionally see the living room
during the milliseconds I managed to keep them open.

And then I saw her.

Standing in front of me.
Watching me.
A silhouette.

My wife.

I did everything I could to wake up.

“Darling!” I shouted.

But I could feel how little my mouth moved.

“Wake me up!” I insisted.

This time I could hear myself.
Yes, my lips were heavy and I could barely pronounce the words,
but at least I knew I was making noise.
And she was there.
Watching me.
It was only a matter of time.

Finally, it happened.
I felt a hit on my chest
and took the deepest breath I could
when I regained control of my body.

She hugged me.
I hugged her back.

“What was wrong with you?” she asked with genuine concern.

I told her the whole story.
Not with this much detail, I should add.

My brain does not work that well when I try to explain things in real time.
But I told her how it felt
and how relieved I was that she woke me up.

She laughed.

“I did not know what was happening, but you scared me… and I recorded you.”

And that was the first time I discovered how I look
when I try to break out of sleep paralysis.

Spoiler: it is ridiculous.

But after everything that happened that day,
what will stay in my mind forever
will not be the claustrophobia of being trapped inside an immobile shell.

It will not be the idea of living an entire moment
only to discover it was just another dream.

It will not even be the fact that my wife now has a video to mock me for years.

From now on,
every once in a while,
without warning,
my mind will remind me of something else.

You know you have slept terribly your entire life.
You know it is very likely you will develop dementia when you are old.
If you even get to be old.

What if that dementia ends up being just like what I lived through that day,
and no matter how much they try to help me, I’ll never break out of that cycle again?