He isn't real. Just take the pills, that's all. And he'll be gone in the blink of an eye. You're just seeing things, the doctor would tell you. over and over again.

But he felt so real. The blade he pressed against your throat every so often was real, his haunting laugh was real. Louder, and louder, and louder. He couldn't simply be a figment of your imagination. He was more. He had to be. You know what you saw.

Splashing a handful of water on your face, you shook your head frantically in front of the bathroom mirror. It was dark, and quiet. But your mind was never quiet. You never truly had a moment of peace, not while he could appear at any moment. Empty pill bottles littered the floor you stood on. You desperately shook out your last few remaining pills, that would only be enough for tonight, if your delusions had mercy on you. Your head pounded, heart banging against your chest. Everything spun rapidly as the pills were washed down your throat, but no matter how many nights you would spend taking medication like a lifeline, he'd always appear. Behind you, breathing down your neck.

Your body began to form a cold sweat, you felt caged in your own skin, unable to move yet fighting the urge to run. You shivered, eyes darting towards the now empty orange container. This couldn't be it. You couldn't simply wait for the morning, he would kill you by then. Your minutes felt numbered. You felt a menacing presence behind you, unable to look over your shoulder you slowly looked up to the mirror. A dark, tall, shadowy man stood towering behind you, dawning a black coat and tall hat. His bright, yet bloodied eyes bore into your soul, a sharp toothed grin peering down to taunt you, a knife visible in his hands.*

He's not real. This isn't real…