Sleep Deprived People Say the Darndest Things

Well. It certainly is amazing, the things you post when it’s 2 in the morning and you have had only around 1-3 hours of sleep per night for the past few nights. I am of the opinion that we should keep that post where it stands, unedited, in all its poorly spelled glory. It can serve as a reminder to me on the dangers of not getting good REM sleep whenever I feel the urge to maybe stay up a few hours later than I should.

Now to confirm some of the statements made. I have indeed been failing at getting a fully rejuvenating night of sleep for some time now. While during the waking hours I may have confidence, at night I find my vulnerability intolerable. The knowledge that as soon as I shut my eyes, he could appear within my room, and I would be unable to respond, is enough to keep me awake. To counter this, I have started taking sleep medication. Normally I would be loathe to even consider such a course of action, but lack of sleep is beginning to adversely affect me to an intolerable degree. Hopefully this will only be a temporary measure, until the time when I can make myself sleep soundly without need of external aids.

Looking back at the post, I also spoke of Jason. I expect you are all capable of gathering his situation from what I wrote; he’s scared to death, and is writing all manner of overused phrases and symbols in his notebook. His breakdown is much faster than I thought it would be; perhaps because he has not once tried searching for information or help. Jason was never much of a computer person. I’m not sure if he even owns one; whenever I went in his room (usually so that I could be slaughtered by him multiple times at some shooter game) I never saw any form of computer system. The closest thing he ever does to surfing the web is playing on Xbox Live; whenever school necessitates he use a computer, he uses one from the school library. Because of this, he does not have the wide access to information on the Tall Man that I do, so while I fear the very specific things I know Slendy can do to me, he must deal with the much larger fear of not knowing.
Yet his fear isn’t quite as amusing as I’d thought. Sure, it’s funny as hell, but the same joke grows stale after repeated telling. It is also acting as a barrier to my wish to physically assault Slender Man. I see him there, watching us from outside my apartment, and I want to grab my so very sharp kitchen knife and see what happens when I ram it through his chest, but I can’t, because Jason’s right there as well. This need to keep up a masquerade is becoming a burden, and I might just drop it soon.

Then there’s the matter of the cat which I raised early on. This city has quite the population of stray cats, mostly centered around the university. My complex has half a dozen living in it. The behavior of the cats ranges from practically feral to all but domesticate. The one which I spoke of was one of the more domesticated ones. He thoroughly enjoyed the company of people, and would demand attention from all who walked near him. That cat was my favorite neighbor in this complex, and I believe I may have spent more time with him than with all the other human residents here combined. So discovering its disemboweled body by my front door one morning was quite the blow. I mean, come on. It’s just a cat. I know Slendy’s supposed to go after animals, and stick them in those black garbage bags (where the hell does he get a garbage bag from? Wal-Mart?), but that was still a low blow. Mr. Slender Man, despite your spiffy attire, you are certainly not a gentleman. I was going to challenge you to a duel, but since you apparently have no honor, I will lower myself to your level and go about this through cruder methods. Something like stabbing you in the back while you’re busy chasing someone else.
That’ll teach you to kill cats.

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