Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-24709326-20140320024356

Hey everyone! This is my first time here and so far I'm loving it! I was so inspired by some of the stories on here that I decided to try and write one myself. This is just the begginning though and I'd love some feeback on if this story if worth continuing or not. Thanks!

I was diagnosed with REM behavior disorder when I was 8. My mother had found me curled up in a corner of the kitchen, whimpering, knife in hand. When she tried to approach me, I had apparently attacked her, cutting into her forearms multiple times and causing scars that to this day have not faded. I have no memory of my first episode. All I remember is waking up in a white sterile room, my arms and legs tied down to the bed. That was more than 12 years ago, and since then I have learned to understand and cope with my condition.

Sleep is divided into two broad categories: Rapid-Eye Movement (REM) and Non Rapid-Eye Movement (NREM). Dreaming typically happens during the REM stage and EEGs show that similar brain wave patterns exist between being awake and dreaming. As we fall asleep, our body goes through a series of changes, such as irregular heart and respiration rate, as well as temporary muscle paralysis. Those who suffer from REM behavior disorder, however, do not experience muscle paralysis during their REM cycle. You’ve probably met someone who sleepwalks, mumbles or kicks in their sleep, but the thing about RBD is that we lack that paralysis that keeps you in bed while you’re dreaming. Usual signs and symptoms of RBD include walking, talking, screaming, hitting and punching, all while sleeping. It’s worse when its a nightmare. If somebody affected by RBD is woken up, they may remember their dream, but have no idea that they were moving about. I never remember my dreams. Every time I wake up from an episode, I can feel a wave of terror wash over me, usually making me fall to the ground and cry, but I can’t pinpoint exactly what upset me in the first place. That night was different though...

As I sat on my bed that night, I thought to myself that it had been exactly one year since my last incident. I walked to my door and ran my fingers along the cold deadbolt lock. One year without waking up in a cold sweat on my front lawn. One year without waking up to my mother crying, desperately trying to pin me down as I thrash around my living room. One year without an episode... I had come such a long way and the doctors said that I could possibly outgrow it. That glimmer of hope is what led me to leave my bedroom door unlocked that night. Hope, or just naivety; either way, it was a mistake.

So? yes, no, maybe?  