My experience with sleep paralysis

It begins like this: My eyelids flutter open in the middle of the night, and I am disoriented. I can see, but hazily, as if through a veil. I concentrate on trying to keep my panic at bay, but I am always aware of what is about to begin. All attempts to move, whether to wiggle a finger or open my mouth, are futile. I am seemingly glued in place to the bed, I cannot raise my head or make a sound with my constricted throat. I am light as a feather, stiff as a board.

The noise comes next. It begins as a low and steady hum, almost a buzz, and that sound coalesces into an unbearable roar. It sounds like the IMAX sound clip that theaters play before movies start, but repeated in rapid succession. As the sound filters in and out of my consciousness, I become aware of the noise of footsteps creaking in an imaginary attic - imaginary because I have never lived in a home with an attic. My thoughts turn to the fear of intruders entering my room, and it is then that I begin to hear whispers layered quietly beneath the louder noises.

The suffocation begins. I feel as if someone is holding me down by the sternum. Usually, this is when the silent tears begin as my breathing pace increases and I begin to choke on the fear of being held down. I know that there is no one in the room, but my subconscious mind cannot be convinced.

The intruder takes shape. The presence of a tall male solidifies by my bed, I can see his silhouette but am not able to distinguish facial features. Shadows distort and become menacing, I realize that the weight on my chest is his hand and I slowly, desperately begin trying to fight the sleep paralysis back. I focus on moving my hand, exactly like the Uma Thurman "wiggle your toe" scene in "Kill Bill." Miraculously, it begins to work.

And then I come home. When I wake from a night terror, Brian is holding me and I am crying, terrified and panic-stricken. Brian doesn't have to ask anymore about what I was dreaming of, he has seen it many times and coached me out of more than a few incidents. He has never experienced it himself so he has no idea how to sympathize, but he holds me nonetheless until my breathing has slowed and I'm able to fall into a fitful, restless sleep.

I've experienced sleep paralysis since my pre-teens, which coincided with my dad's death. Some psychologists associate sleep paralysis with post traumatic stress disorder, but over a decade has passed and I still sporadically have to deal with them. There is no method of prevention, no hypnosis or magic drug to cure the mysterious "twilight terror" that occurs in the space between sleep and consciousness.

In older cultures, sleep paralysis was believed to be a demon sitting on one's chest. Sometimes it was a hag, other times it was the devil himself. Always, it was accompanied with the muted terror of religious or superstitious myth. It was only recently that researchers at Stanford and Waterloo began delving into the experiential patterns of people plagued by these night terrors. It is now generally accepted that tales of being "abducted by aliens" or "visited by ghosts" are actually just sleep paralysis nightmares, ones similar to mine but tempered by the innocuous imaginations of people who watch X-Files and Lost before they go to bed.

Researching and understanding this phenomenon has ultimately led to my peace of mind. I'm able to fall asleep faster and forget the incident more easily, because I confronted the fear and allowed myself to accept the scientific truth behind it. If getting over most phobias were this easy, and I could master my fear of heights, maybe I wouldn't have such a hard time going on the Advanced slopes in Tahoe :P