My PTSD *Graphic content warning*

Earlier today I had a nightmare when I took a nap. Someone had me repeat the nightmare to them and tried to do a dream reading of it. Honestly I would have believed it if it wasn’t for the fact that I knew where this nightmare spawned from. The fact is that I have PTSD about sleeping.

It started at the end of my 8th grade year. I started having nightmares of the most hellish sort. The first dream started with me being pulled down this tunnel of burned, charred, rotted hands that were grabbing me, not to stop me, but to try to free themselves from their own miserable fates. The thing that was grabbing me was a demon. It had grey scales all over its body, black spikes in unnatural places, massive leathery wings and a dog’s skull for its head. It dragged me to this molten red pit filled with rot and decay. The demon then tied me up and began to gleefully whip the flesh from my bones. I could feel every strike, but the pain from this first dream was not the worst pain from the nightmares that followed, nor was it the most sickening thing about the dream. 

It was the screaming of the damned, the rotten smell that made me vomit, and possibly the worse of all, the fact that even when there were times that I should be dead from the torment that I was given, I was kept alive just so that the demons and devils could repeat their sick past time.

I remember the tortures that they inflicted on me. I remember my fingers and toes being ground to stubs and regrown repeatedly as the next infernal contraption was prepared. I remember being stretched until my skin tore and my organs hung over the molten pits of rot. I remember the bugs, birds and vermin eating me alive as I screamed for help in the iron cages of the demons that imprisoned me. 

And what I remember almost as much as my own screaming is the terrible screaming of pain and terror from the other tortured souls. I remember watching, sick to my stomach and crying, as a pregnant woman was torn open by a vile wyrm and had her baby, a boy, ripped from her womb. I remember a man trying to kill himself repeatedly as a demoness raped him and used him for her pleasure. I remember more… Many more that make me sick to even think about. And I remember the screaming… Gods I remember the screaming. And How I wish and beg and pray that I could forget the screaming. 

No Psychic or spiritualist or dream reader could give me solstice from these nightmares. No therapy could ease the memories. And no amount of tiredness could make me sleep until the bright noon sun, where I believe that the demons are weakest but still terrifying enough for rest and sleep to not come in any great amounts. 

My torment went on for too long. For 2 years of my the part of my life that i could still call my childhood, this went on for. Now 6 years of being afraid to sleep out of fear of remembering such hellish nights have past since the start of the nightmares.

And Still I pray and beg for the lingering torment to stop. And still I cry when I remember the screaming, when I remember the tormented souls that were my companions for 2 years, when I remember the horridness of what happened to me all those years ago.

This is the rape of my childhood. This is the rape of my mind. This is the torture that I must live with through my life. Gods give me strength.