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The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/personalbubbleof90ft on 2025-09-23 04:11:07+00:00.

This may come as a surprise to those of you with a healthy sleep schedule, but a lack of sleep can act as a kind of hallucinogen. It actually increases the amount of dopamine produced, as well as certain serotonin receptors, causing mild visual and auditory hallucinations to occur. These increase in intensity the longer one goes without sleeping and, as I’ve found out recently, can become worse than real.

I started skipping sleep during college. Not every day or anything, just to study, or if I stayed up too late and was worried I would sleep through my alarms. Every couple of weeks or so, I would load up on caffeine and vampire my way through the night, but I hated how it made me feel the next day. I’d space out, forgetting the words coming out of my mouth as I’d say them. I’d be unable to remember why I entered a room seconds after entering. Honestly, the closest comparison I can make is being a little high all day. But not a fun high. A sluggish, foot dragging, eye sagging buzz that doesn’t stop until you fall into bed, ideally in the later evening.

I never intended for this to become a habit. I think my brain decided at some point it was fine with feeling a little slow as long as it got a healthy dose of dopamine. The older I got, the more comfortable I became going without sleep, but nothing like how it’s been recently. Before my sister died, I was probably going sleepless at least once a week. She passed almost two months ago, and that cycle has reversed. I can’t rest most days, and after five or six my body would essentially force a shut down. I’ll sleep anywhere from twelve to twenty hours, but it’s not restful. I don’t wake up feeling refreshed. I wake up, still exhausted, still feeling that “high”, still seeing her face cobbled together in that casket.

It was a car accident. Not even anyone’s fault. She was driving a beaten up sedan that was mine back in high school. The brakes gave out on the interstate when she was on her way to get the car tuned up. Slammed into the back of a pick-up at seventy miles an hour. Losing your best friend like that, so fast and violent, should send a shockwave through your soul. You should be able to know, in some impossible way, that something horrible has happened. But that’s not real life. I was at work, I got the call, I cried, a part of me broke forever. I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy.

So, here I am, a month after the funeral. I was one of five that attended. The other four were her friends, who all wished their condolences through their own tears. All of them told me to get some sleep, only one managing to not look put off by me in some way. I can’t really blame them. I did the best I could to pull myself together, but my appearance left a lot to be desired, and it’s only gotten worse alongside my sleeping habits.

The bags under my eyes have nearly calcified. Rotten, black masses encasing my lower eyelids. The hair that hasn’t fallen out sticks together in clumps. I’ve lost weight I couldn’t afford to lose, I’m guessing about ten pounds since she died. I haven’t worked up the nerve to actually check on the scale, but the skin on my wrists didn’t always cling to the bone like it does now. My legs shake when I walk, my hands too when doing anything other than resting at my side. Physically, I’m not doing great. Whatever is going on in my head, though, is much worse.

And before anyone gets in the comments trying to tell me that melatonin exists, believe me, I’m well fucking aware. I’ve taken the gummies, I’ve taken the medicine, over the counter and prescribed. I’ve done it all and they only threaten to submerge me deeper into this psychosis. Combined with the grief, I’ve truly felt like I’ve lost a portion of my sanity these past few weeks. I really do think I can still trust myself though. That’s why I’m writing this. I need outside judgement, and since she died, I don’t really have anyone to talk to about it.

Two days ago, I was the worst I’d ever been. I think it was sometime around three in the morning, and I was watching TV. A documentary I barely remember. Sometimes I’ll put on boring movies or shows to try and coax my brain into turning itself off, but instead I was half awake, flipping through my phone.

When you’re not really paying attention to what you’re looking at, the tiny visions play tricks on you. Those little eye floaters that move away from where you look will suddenly seem to dart from the side of your vision, and they mess with me all the time. My brain thinks they’re a mouse or a bug, and at that moment, one got me. A sudden movement to my right, and my head involuntarily shot to look. Nothing as always, but in my newly drawn attention, I heard something to my left. A barely perceptible noise that resembled somebody inhaling. I turned towards the television, thinking it the source, when I saw it. Not more imaginary movement, but a presence. A face, inches from mine, dominated my periphery, just outside of focus.

Instead of screaming, flinching, or even shifting my gaze, I froze. Stared ahead, wide-eyed, for the first time in months, soaking in blue light from the television. I couldn’t look at it. I was terrified that acknowledging this intruder would lead to something horrible. I focused forward, but tried to identify what was quietly wheezing in my ear. I could tell it was a pale gray, with pink blotches creeping across its skin. Dark patches were scattered across the pink, and brunette hair hung down over its crooked nose.

Because I was so fixated on it, the nasally, pained gasps became all I could hear. It seemed impossible that I didn’t hear it sooner. Air clawed its way through this thing, every breath in and out seeming to tear something new. I probably would have stayed there in shock forever, if it wasn’t for that last exhale. Before that one, I couldn’t feel anything. I only heard the face struggling. But with the final wheeze, its mouth opened, and wafted a hot, sickly wind onto my neck. My body reacted before I could tell it to, lurching away from the source. Nothing but my dimly lit living room, and the somber music of the movie’s credits filling the void.

I had never been more awake in my life. I turned on every light I could and paced through my house, checking every corner I could to ensure I was alone. From what I could tell, I was. I slowly made my way to the bathroom, looking over my shoulder at every turn. I crept in, closed the door and stared at myself in the mirror. I looked awful. At least that was normal. I splashed water on my face, and when I looked back up, I laughed to myself. “A nightmare,” I thought. I had fallen asleep for a few minutes, and got scared awake. I brushed my teeth to get the stale taste from my mouth, stole one last look at myself, and reached for the door handle. When I did, I noticed something at the bottom of the door.

Darkness. There wasn’t any light on the other side. Normally I would attribute it to slipping my mind, but after that nightmare I was more focused than I’ve ever been. I knew that the hallway should be lit, yet I could see its absence through the crack of the frame. I turned the handle slowly, and opened it even slower. Just enough to where I could peak through. The bathroom light poured through the crack and into the completely black house. Every light was off. I scanned all that I could see. My bedroom’s door was half open, offering a sliver of a view inside, and the light only illuminated half of the hall, sputtering out before it could reach the end.

I instinctively reached for my phone to use as a flashlight, but realized it was still on the couch. Cursing myself, I opened the door a little more, hoping to brighten my view as much as possible. It lit the hallway completely, and I could see the end. I let out a small sigh of relief. A sigh I immediately sucked back in when I looked into my room. Hiding behind my door, glaring through the inches-wide crack between it and the frame, was a woman.

Even just the fraction of her I could see, with bruising covering the skin that wasn’t scraped off, and her hair matted to a peeled scalp, I knew it was her. I knew from the one eye peering through. People always told us we looked nothing alike, besides our big hazel eyes. Though this one staring at me was bloodshot and half burned, I knew I was just a few feet away from my sister.

“Tara?” I stammered into the dark.

“…Tomm…y,” she choked, instantly bringing back the sweet voice I was resigned to never hearing again. But it was forced. As dry and painful as the sliver of her that showed.

“Why…awake?”

I stared ahead, unsure of how to respond, or even process what I was experiencing.

“…Tomm…y?”

“Yes! Sorry I’m just… I’m sorry.”

“Should…n’t…awake.”

“I know that!” I yelled, louder than I meant to. My hand gripped the door handle so hard I’m surprised it didn’t pop off.

“How…how are you here? I buried you! Watched you sink into the ground. I saw your face! You were stitched together with wire and thread! They had to-”

I stopped mid sentence when my eyes met hers again. Tears gently rolled down her skinned cheek. The labored breaths became shorter as she cried through the corner. As I watched the tears fall, I realized for the first time she wasn’t wearing clothes. The bruising on her face was mimicked across her entire side. Bone poked through her skeletal ribcage, and the flesh was torn entirely from her leg, hip to heel.

“I…sor…ry…di…d…

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