I had to return to my university after visiting family for winter break. Before I left, my father expressed how disappointed he was in my sister—that he wished she had made wiser choices. I didn’t know how to comfort him, but I wished them both the best.

My friend picked me up around 3 AM to drive to Los Angeles. I was exhausted, but I couldn’t sleep in the backseat. I stared out the window, crying. My father never cared for me the way he cared for my sister. I had never heard him express that much disappointment in anyone—as if he cared more for her than he ever had for me.

By the time we neared campus, I went straight to my apartment and collapsed on the bed.

It was nearly 4 AM, and I still couldn’t sleep. Class started at 8. I was restless. I closed my eyes, hoping to drift off.

A weight on my chest. My limbs were like stone. The room was too still.

“Hey. Hey!” A woman’s voice, screaming in my ear.

I panicked and looked around. My roommates were asleep. No one should have been awake. Who would be talking?

I lay back down. But I didn’t sleep well. Sleep paralysis struck. I couldn’t move. I tried—fighting it with all I had.

“Help,” I mumbled.

I reached for my phone. The moment I touched it, I broke free. I panted and looked around the room. Then I got up, pulled a pair of scissors from my backpack, and tucked them under my pillow before falling asleep.

*In my culture, if you experience sleep paralysis, placing something sharp beneath your pillow can protect you. I don’t do this anymore—I’ve since converted. But yes, this really happened.*