All Work and No Play

The mind can be quite complex. Honestly, the complexity is unbearable. Your mind can control you, make you think of things you don't want to think about. Have you ever had a moment when you're doing something and out of the blue you start singing a song that you don't even like? Well you can thank your mind for that. Have you ever seen things that you would swear was real, but was actually nothing more than an hallucination? It's all in your mind. Your mind can deceive you, make you see things that aren't really there. Your mind can be your worst enemy or admittedly, it can be your best friend. If you treat it right.

I thought that my mind was my best friend. I thought that every single thing I had ever learned, everything I've ever accomplished in my life as a successful businessman, was all thanks to my best friend. No, not at all. My best friend turned its back on me. I admit, I wasn't really a good friend either. No, I had moments where I didn't sleep, but instead worked in my office doing anything that dealt with work. There were times where I would skip out on meals and times where I'd hit myself in the head, rocking my brain around. Those things can have quite an effect on your mind and the way it works. What I had done, is not any close to as bad as what my mind had done to me. My mind had done something that most people wouldn't know a mind could possibly do. Even I, a Harvard graduate, never knew it to be possible. Somehow it happened, and it happened to me.

It first started in May of last year. I was working as usual in my office, which was located in the basement of my home. The time was 4:30am and I knew that I should've been asleep, my mind was yelling at me to go to sleep. Without sleep, your mind may not function properly. I was so caught up in my work that I didn't even realize my wife had left me. It dawns on me sometimes, and I cry about it out of the blue. I didn't sleep, I barely ate and I didn't communicate with anybody. It was all work and no play. Anyways, on that night, I was hearing things. Voices and footsteps. The voices, they were coming from my head. My mind was talking to me and it didn't like the fact that I wasn't getting any sleep. The footsteps, they were coming from upstairs. I was startled by them because I was home alone. My wife had left me weeks before and I can only see my son on Saturdays. I walked up the stairs, calling out for my wife, thinking maybe she'd missed me and had come back home. I searched the entire downstairs area, but there was no sign of anyone. I looked outside to see if my wife's car was out there. It wasn't. I searched upstairs, no sign of anybody. I thought that maybe I was hearing things due to lack of sleep so I finally decided to put my work on hold. Before I'd gone to sleep, my mind was begging for a Tylenol as it kept screaming at me to take one. I opened the cabinet and searched for the Tylenol.

Shit. I remembered I'd taken the last one that same morning. When you're not getting sleep, your mind will not tell you things that you should remember. That's your punishment. If you don't let your mind sleep, it will make you forget things that you'd usually remember. Your mind can be a real asswhole sometimes. This time, my mind back fired on itself by not reminding me to get some Tylenol. I splashed some water on my face and glanced at the mirror.

You look like shit. My eyes were puffy, my skin was pale. I looked like a walking corpse. Still looking through the mirror, I saw someone walk down the hall. She was in a white gown, one similar to my wife's. I walked out into the hall, calling out her name. I saw her walk into my bedroom and I followed. She lay on the bed, inviting me over with her finger. "I knew you'd come rolling back to me," I said as I climbed into the bed.

"I missed you," she replied, in the sexiest voice I had ever heard from her. I kissed her from her lips down to her chest, forgetting about how tired I was. My mind was still yelling at me to go to sleep, but I ignored it. I probably should've just listened. I took off my shirt, we kissed some more and then the phone rang. I reached over and grabbed the phone, my wife's lips pressed softy to my neck.

"Hello?" I said.

"I figured you'd still be up," a woman said on the other line.

"Now who the hell is this?" My wife's lips were now pressed to my chest.

"Who do you think it is?" The woman on the other line asked. My wife's lips were now back up to my neck. "I'm coming over tomorrow for the rest of my stuff." I paused. My heart suddenly knocked on my chest. I looked down to the bed, there was nobody there. I looked around the room, nobody there. That is what it had come to.

My mind was turning its back on me.

I woke up just six hours later, with one hour to get to work. I didn't even bother to shower, I threw on some clothes and I rushed to my car. I arrived to work just in time. My boss would've killed me if I were late. I turned in some papers and my boss reminded me that it was my day off. If only my mind wasn't so pissed off at me, it would have reminded me. I stayed to work anyway. I went into my office to work on some more papers. My job was nothing but papers, papers, coffee and more papers.

Hours later, I was struggling to keep my eyes open as I worked, with a pen in my left hand and a cup of coffee in the other. I was dreadfully tired and my mind was telling me to go to sleep, but I refused to listen to it. I doze off for only half a second when my boss walked in. "What can I do for you, Mr. Shaftner?" He looked angry. That wasn't unusual, but he looked angrier than he usually did.

"I heard you've been sleeping on the job," he said.

''Shit. Damn snitches.'' "No, sir," I said, "I'm wide awake as usual." He looked at me, obviously noticing how tired I was.

"You're fired," he said, "I don't like liars."

Despite the fact that I came to work on my day off, he fires me? I tried my best to keep calm, but my lack of sleep combined with lack of food made that impossible. I watched him leave the room. I picked up my computer monitor and threw it across the room. Everything I could find, I threw it across the room. A few of my coworkers entered, confused and worried. "What the hell is going on in here?" One of them asked.

I took a deep breath in an attempt to calm down. "He fired me," I said, "He just walked on in here and fired me."

"Who the hell are you talking about?"

"Shaftner," I said, "who the do you think I'm talking about?"

They looked at each other, a confused look upon their faces. I was half a second away from accusing them of being snitches until they said something that twisted my guts. "Dude, Shaftner left hours ago."

My mind was turning its back on me.

Out of embarrassment, I left the building and drove home. When I got there, my wife's car was in the driveway. She did say that she was coming over to grab the rest of her things. I walked inside and immediately, she was all over me, talking about how much she misses me and wants to come back home. I was going along with it at first until I realized.

My mind was turning its back on me, but I wasn't gonna let it trick me this time.

"You're not real," I said. My wife had a confused look upon her face. "My mind created you, you're my punishment." She called me crazy and walked out of the door.

You're not gonna win, I know what is real and what is not.

I realized that I hadn't showered at all that day, so I walked upstairs and on my way to the bathroom, I saw someone from the corner of my eye as I walked pass my bedroom. I stepped back a step and I saw my wife. She was hanging from the ceiling, her neck was snapped. She'd hung herself. Or had she? I'd pissed off my mind and it was torturing me. I didn't know rather I was talking to my wife downstairs or not. It could have been that the one who I was talking to downstairs was not my wife and that this one, hanging by her neck from the ceiling was.

She's not real. I closed my eyes, holding them shut for a while and hoping that when I open them, she'd be gone. I opened my eyes, still hanging from the ceiling was my wife. So many times she'd threaten her own life, tell me that she'd commit suicide if I continued to work as much as I did. I always thought that she was bluffing, just desperate for me to work less and worry more about my family. She wasn't bluffing, she'd done it. I pulled her down from the rope and I held her in my arms, my tears falling down onto her cold pale face. I closed my eyes, still hoping it was all a trick, but I felt her in my arms. She was cold, so cold. I opened my eyes.

My mind was turning its back on me.

She was gone, she wasn't in my arms. She wasn't real. My mind was becoming my worst nightmare, making me see things and feel emotions I don't ever want to feel.

I'm cold, or am I? I'm tired, or am I? I'm hungry, or am I? I'm alive, or am I?

My mind was turning its back on me.

I walked down to the kitchen, almost 90 percent sure I was hungry. Something simple, something simple and this will all come to an end.

I fixed myself a peanut butter sandwich and I scarfed it down as fast as I could without choking. I saw my wife in a white gown, passing through the hallway.

My mind was turning its back on me.

I made another sandwich and I scarfed it down. I took a bottle of water from the fridge and I guzzled it down. I then saw my eight year old son, in a white gown passing through the kitchen.

Most definitely, my mind was turning its back on me.

I massaged my head in an attempt to apologize to my mind for all the wrong doing and hoping it would stop making me see things that aren't really there.

"Hi, dad, I missed you."

You aren't really here.

"Oh honey, kiss me."

You aren't really here.

"Can we play some catch, dad?"

''Fuck off. You aren't really here.''

There was a knock at the door and my wife walked in. "I'm here for my things," she said. My eyes grew wide, my head was hot and the headache was unbearable. Damn it, I forgot the Tylenol yet again.

Frustration was building and I grabbed the sharpest knife that I could find and I pierced it into her chest then into her back. There was blood everywhere, but no, not really.

My mind was turning its back on me.

There was a knock at the door again, I walked from the kitchen and I opened it. "Hey, dad, mom just dropped me off."

It isn't Saturday. I squeezed the knife in my hand and I slit my son's throat. I stabbed him over and over again before I turned around and slammed the door shut. In the living room, was my wife and son. Their eyes were black, their skin was pale and rotten and they were drenched in blood with visible stab wombs all over their bodies. "You've killed us, daddy," they were both saying it over and over again. Their voices were echoing. Why are they echoing? They were getting closer and closer, they seemed so real.

I ran upstairs and into the first room on the floor, which was my son's room. I slammed the door shut and I locked it. I was breathing loudly as my heart was knocking on my chest, begging for the fear to go away. Everything got silent, no more voices, no more echoes. I thought it was over, until I looked over toward the bed. My son loved reading books at night, he'd throw his blanket over his head and use a flashlight to see. That's what he was doing, but it wasn't really him. I saw the light from the flashlight through the blanket and I heard the sound of humming coming from under it. It sounded nothing like my son. I tried to leave the room, but the door wouldn't open. It was dark and the lights weren't working. I closed my eyes, hoping everything would go back to normal.

I felt something breathing on my face as I held my eyes shut. When I opened them, I saw something that I hadn't thought about since I was a kid. It was an old woman that I used to have nightmares about. A woman I created in my mind when I was a young boy. Her hair was long and black. Her eyes were surrounded by darkness and her skin was rotten and desiccated. I remembered one detail about her, one horrifying detail. She craved the taste of human flesh. She bit into my neck and she pierced her long, sharp nails into my chest. I watched as the blood poured out of me. She had killed me, but no, not really.

My mind was turning its back on me.

Everything got silent, there was nobody but me in the room. I wasn't even sure if what I was looking at was real or not. Maybe I believed I was at home, but was really at the office and everybody was watching me going completely nuts. Or maybe I was actually in the middle of no where, running from things that weren't really there. I was losing my sanity.

As I sat there on the floor, my back against the wall, my son appeared next to me. "I missed you, dad," he said, wrapping his arms around my waist.

"I missed you too, Jake." I wrapped my arms around him, tears escaping from my eyes. It felt so real, but it wasn't. My mind was turning its back on me.

I stood from the floor and I walked into the bathroom, threw off my clothes and I jumped into the shower. The hot water felt like heaven, as if it was my first shower in months. I thought about my wife and my son, the real ones. I was thinking about how long it seemed to have been since I've talked to my son. That's when I remembered. I remembered what my boss had said to me when I showed up to work on my day off. I'm only off one day a week. One day. My mind didn't remind me what day it was, so I had no idea. As I stood in the shower, I remembered.

Today is Saturday.

I stood in the shower just saying it to myself over and over again.

''Today is Saturday. Today is Saturday. Today is Saturday.''

It hit me faster than a lightning strike. ''Today is Saturday. Please tell me it isn't so.'' I got out of the shower and threw on my robe. I ran downstairs to the front door as fast as I could. I swung the door open and there, on the welcome mat, my son lay lifeless in a puddle of blood.

My mind had turned its back on me.