Hallucinations are a rare side effect of most of the psychiatric drugs I’ve taken. I’m by no means experienced in the field of pharmaceuticals, but after taking a whole range of serotonin reuptake inhibitors (fluoxetine, escitalopram, sertraline, etc.) I have collected my fair share of symptoms. In my opinion, hearing a skittering crawl outside my door or seeing a tall man looming in the corner is preferable to suicidal thoughts. Sure, the uncertainty of being unable to trust my eyes and ears took some getting used to, but at least I am capable of joy. Without my medication, relaxation and happiness are as elusive as a sunrise to a blind man. My hands may shake so badly that I struggle…

This isn’t actually my story. It was related to me, a while ago, by an elderly gentleman that frequented a convenience store I worked at. I think back to that night where I followed him to the junkyard, and my hair still stands, along with that quiver of gooseflesh that has nothing to do with the temperature. I worked in a relatively quiet part of the city, out on the edge, and we had little to fear from crime. The job didn’t pay well, but what little I got helped to pay some of the bills for college and the nightly customers were few and far between – giving me more than enough time to do some reading or languish…

It was a car accident. Nothing particularly remarkable, but fatal nonetheless. You left behind a wife and two children. It was a painless death. The EMTs tried their best to save you, but to no avail. Your body was so utterly shattered you were better off, trust me. And that’s when you met me. “What… what happened?” You asked. “Where am I?” “You died,” I said, matter-of-factly. No point mincing words. “There was a…a truck and it was skidding…” “Yup.” I said “I… I died?” “Yup. But don’t feel bad about it. Everyone dies.” I said. You looked around. There was nothingness. Just you and me. “What is this place?” You asked. “Is this the afterlife?” “More or less,” I…