"I Thought I Was Just Scared of the Dark — Until the Night It Sat on My Chest"

When I was a little girl, I was terrified of the dark.Not just a little afraid, the way most children are — no, I was the kind of terrified that made me sleep with my sister every night, clutching her hand like my life depended on it. I didn’t even know what I was afraid of. Just this... feeling. That something could come for me. Take me. Hurt me.And then one night, my fear became real.I was maybe eight or nine. I went to bed like usual, next to my sister, holding her hand tight. But in the middle of the night... I woke up.Or at least, I thought I was awake.
My eyes were shut. I couldn’t move. Not even a finger. My tongue wouldn’t budge. I tried to scream, but no sound came out. My breath was stuck in my throat. It felt like something heavy — unbearably heavy — was sitting on my chest. Crushing me.That’s when I started to pray. Silently. In my head. The only thing I could do. I begged Allah for help. My body didn’t listen, but my soul screamed.Then, slowly, my vision returned.And what I saw still gives me chills.There was something on top of me. A shape. Not quite human. Not quite anything. But it was real, and it was watching me. I couldn’t breathe. I wanted to die just to escape.Suddenly, it vanished. My limbs came back to life. I gasped like someone drowning. I screamed so loudly my whole family came running. They thought it was just a nightmare. They tried to comfort me. Told me to forget.But how do you forget something like that?
Now I’m 25. And it still happens. The paralysis. The feeling. The presence. Not every night. But often enough that I’ve learned how to handle it. I still feel afraid. But now... a strange part of me finds power in facing it.I've learned something no one told me as a child:

Even in your darkest fear, you can find a strange kind of strength.

And sometimes, in fear... there's a twisted form of peace.