joshcruz428
Oct 19, 2015
Undergraduate / Sleep Paralysis - Essay on having a meaningful 'thing' which completes you as a person [6]
@aikoashiya
@justivy03
New Draft
To rid myself of demons, all I have to do is twitch my pinky. Wiggling my fingers enables the rest of my hand to move, allowing me to fixate all my energy into breaking the invisible chains that bind me to my coffin. As I resist the ropes tying me down, I have to ignore the sensation of millions of unseen needles jabbing and numbing my body because revealing any weakness wrenches me down again, inviting the ghouls to return. Only after straining every muscle, stretching every sinew, and expelling every breath, can I liberate myself from the imaginary monster's straitjacket. Only then, can I go back to sleep.
When the curse of sleep paralysis creeps into my bedroom almost every night, it brings nothing but a persistent determination to break my spirits with its hallucinatory weapons - the relentless screaming in my ear, the shadowy figure watching from the corner, the eyeless devil suffocating me. These stimuli mercilessly bombard my senses, leading to an overwhelming sense of terror and helplessness; and worst of all, I am rendered immobile.
There's no better word to describe the chronic perfectionist than 'paralyzed.' I reached this epiphany during one of my more intense episodes of sleep paralysis in which I imagined flames engulfing my house. The crackling wood and falling beams did nothing to drown out my internal screams as I desperately tried to break free of my invisible prison. However, safety didn't induce my panic: the only thought that occupied my mind was the fact that paper was flammable, and the essay sitting on my desk was due tomorrow. When I finally physically freed myself, I realized that I remained a prisoner, mentally paralyzed by the chains of extreme prudence.
From then on, I allowed my mental pinky to go haywire. Twitch. I raised my hand to answer a hard question in class. Twitch. I volunteered to captain the precalculus team despite never taking the class before. Twitch. I auditioned for the All-State Orchestra. Twitch. I signed up for HL Math, arguably the hardest class in our IB curriculum. Twitch. I ordered the self-study AP Physics C book. Though seemingly insignificant, each pinky wiggle, each tiny step out of my comfort zone brought me closer to an awakening ignited by my shortcomings.
The inevitable failures hit hard: I got questions wrong, failed to teach certain concepts, tanked my audition, received a 40% on a test, and I still choke up when asked about Ampere's Law. My former self would have abandoned these passions, viewing these failures as indicators that achieving victory and success was impossible in these fields; instead, I resolved to improve myself, fostering a maturation that challenged my limits. I dug into my textbook, held precalculus practice sessions, practiced the viola every morning before school, discussed Maclaurin series with my teacher during lunch, and held my own experiments to understand physics. I experienced a growth that quickly smothered my former ideal of perfection, expanding farther into the depths of knowledge than I had ever dreamed possible.
As I resist the insecurities tying me down, I have to ignore the sensation of millions of humiliations, shortcomings, and failures jabbing and numbing my mind because revealing any weakness wrenches me down again, inviting the pessimism to return. Only after straining every neuron, stretching every idea, and expelling all negativity, can I liberate myself from my comfort zone. Only then, can I open my eyes, recognize my weaknesses, and take one step closer to understanding the world around me. Though my chronic sleep paralysis shows no signs of abating, removing the restrictions of a perfection-driven comfort zone allows me to fearlessly explore life's boundaries, in my own flawed and imperfect, but ultimately liberated and self-determined way.
@aikoashiya
@justivy03
New Draft
To rid myself of demons, all I have to do is twitch my pinky. Wiggling my fingers enables the rest of my hand to move, allowing me to fixate all my energy into breaking the invisible chains that bind me to my coffin. As I resist the ropes tying me down, I have to ignore the sensation of millions of unseen needles jabbing and numbing my body because revealing any weakness wrenches me down again, inviting the ghouls to return. Only after straining every muscle, stretching every sinew, and expelling every breath, can I liberate myself from the imaginary monster's straitjacket. Only then, can I go back to sleep.
When the curse of sleep paralysis creeps into my bedroom almost every night, it brings nothing but a persistent determination to break my spirits with its hallucinatory weapons - the relentless screaming in my ear, the shadowy figure watching from the corner, the eyeless devil suffocating me. These stimuli mercilessly bombard my senses, leading to an overwhelming sense of terror and helplessness; and worst of all, I am rendered immobile.
There's no better word to describe the chronic perfectionist than 'paralyzed.' I reached this epiphany during one of my more intense episodes of sleep paralysis in which I imagined flames engulfing my house. The crackling wood and falling beams did nothing to drown out my internal screams as I desperately tried to break free of my invisible prison. However, safety didn't induce my panic: the only thought that occupied my mind was the fact that paper was flammable, and the essay sitting on my desk was due tomorrow. When I finally physically freed myself, I realized that I remained a prisoner, mentally paralyzed by the chains of extreme prudence.
From then on, I allowed my mental pinky to go haywire. Twitch. I raised my hand to answer a hard question in class. Twitch. I volunteered to captain the precalculus team despite never taking the class before. Twitch. I auditioned for the All-State Orchestra. Twitch. I signed up for HL Math, arguably the hardest class in our IB curriculum. Twitch. I ordered the self-study AP Physics C book. Though seemingly insignificant, each pinky wiggle, each tiny step out of my comfort zone brought me closer to an awakening ignited by my shortcomings.
The inevitable failures hit hard: I got questions wrong, failed to teach certain concepts, tanked my audition, received a 40% on a test, and I still choke up when asked about Ampere's Law. My former self would have abandoned these passions, viewing these failures as indicators that achieving victory and success was impossible in these fields; instead, I resolved to improve myself, fostering a maturation that challenged my limits. I dug into my textbook, held precalculus practice sessions, practiced the viola every morning before school, discussed Maclaurin series with my teacher during lunch, and held my own experiments to understand physics. I experienced a growth that quickly smothered my former ideal of perfection, expanding farther into the depths of knowledge than I had ever dreamed possible.
As I resist the insecurities tying me down, I have to ignore the sensation of millions of humiliations, shortcomings, and failures jabbing and numbing my mind because revealing any weakness wrenches me down again, inviting the pessimism to return. Only after straining every neuron, stretching every idea, and expelling all negativity, can I liberate myself from my comfort zone. Only then, can I open my eyes, recognize my weaknesses, and take one step closer to understanding the world around me. Though my chronic sleep paralysis shows no signs of abating, removing the restrictions of a perfection-driven comfort zone allows me to fearlessly explore life's boundaries, in my own flawed and imperfect, but ultimately liberated and self-determined way.