Unusual Insomnia: The Beginning of Disarray and the Awakening to Depression.

Part 1: A Supernatural Experience

I staggered towards the bathroom. It was around 1:00 AM, and suddenly, I felt an urge to perform ablution for the night prayer. The refreshing water from the Bali-style shower, a legacy from my grandparents who passed away a few years ago, made my body feel a little better. I am their only grandchild, currently in my 4th semester of college. This long holiday, which I usually spend in city of my collages, Malang, feels different. My body feels off, my mind is a mess, and my sleep schedule is completely out of order.

The stress of thinking about all my assignments, technical drawings, and the intricacies of mechanical engineering has left me unable to control myself. This holiday, starting from late December until February, should have been a time to relax. However, the endless meetups with friends, filled with late-night conversations until the dawn call to prayer, have messed up everything. The soda and spicy food from New Year's Eve only worsened my condition, causing vomiting, dehydration, and even symptoms of typhoid.

I didn't seek any medical examination due to our family's financial situation and cultural beliefs. I just took over-the-counter headache pills from the nearby store. My sleep schedule became completely erratic. I would start sleeping around 7:30 in the morning and wake up at 2:00 in the afternoon. Tonight, I decided to pray the night prayer, seeking guidance for my condition.

After finishing my ablution, I prepared myself and began my prayer. During the first cycle, I often lost focus on what I was saying, but I tried to maintain the movements of the prayer, even though cold sweat covered my body. As I finished the second cycle and uttered the final salutations, suddenly, I saw a large but blurry figure behind me, as if it was following my prayer. Startled, I screamed, and the figure vanished.

My mother, who was the only one at home, rushed to me and guided me back to bed. "I'm sorry, Mom," I murmured weakly.

Night after night, I began to feel paranoid. The loud noise coming from the ceiling above my bed, which I initially thought was just a cat or a rat, became unnerving. The sound wasn't frequent, but it always came from the same spot, and it took a long time before it echoed loudly again. DUUMM... I tried to dismiss this insomnia and think positively. "Ah, it's just in my head... it's probably just a cat," I thought to myself. However, the weakness and persistent vomiting only made me more uneasy. Several times, the food I swallowed came back up.

One night, I returned to the bathroom to pray, and thankfully, this time I managed to complete it without incident. Afterward, I forced myself to sleep with a calm heart. Around 2:00 AM, I began to lie down. But at 3:00 AM, I was still awake, and I heard a tapping sound from the wall next to me, as if someone was playing with a piece of wood like a child. "What is that?" I thought. "There's no one next to my room; it's just the bathroom next door."

As I turned my gaze to the ceiling, suddenly, from the spot that usually made a sound at night, I saw a white figure with something tied around its head... Oh my god... a ghost wrapped in a shroud... a *pocong*!

Part 2: A Glimpse of Light: The Door to Death or Life

My life at that time felt like the movie titled "A Beautiful Mind"... although that movie hadn't even been released when I experienced this strange illness. Reality and illusion blurred together, making it difficult to distinguish between the two. Eventually, I tried to practice the hardest thing in the world: letting go. How could I not? I spent days encountering spirits, as if I could communicate with them mentally and foresee things that hadn't happened yet. But it turned out, this wasn't reality; life felt like I was in another world, where my mind and all my senses were out of sync. You could call it madness, stress, or whatever you want.

One day, my parents had given up hope. I was just lying in front of the TV, and according to them, I once tried to lift it and throw it. My mother whispered something to me, "Let go, son..." Perhaps this was my time running out in this world. Within me, everything was in turmoil—paralysis, fear of dying young, unfulfilled dreams, and regret. "Oh God... forgive me for all the time I've wasted..."

As the evening wore on, my fear increased, and the heat overwhelmed me to the point where my eyes ached. My mother whispered to me again, "Son, I'll ask for help from Mas Imam, okay?"

"Yes, Mom... please ask for his help. Give him my regards," I replied weakly.

Mas Imam was a Quran teacher at the spring behind our house. I used to study Quran with him there. He was a charismatic man, never angry even when I once got into a fight with my friends at his place. He rarely came down to the village. One time, he passed by our house, and when I looked at him, I felt guilty for not returning to study with him. "Ah, it might be too late for me to atone for this sin. I hope I'm given the chance to fix my life," I thought.

Around 10 PM, after my mother returned, I was very grateful to her and immediately drank the water she gave me.

"Is this from Mas Imam, Mom?"

"Yes, it's from the ablution water in the prayer hall," she replied.

"Alhamdulillah, thank you, Mas Imam," I said as I quickly drank the water.

A refreshing sensation immediately washed over me... I felt such relief and quickly fell into a deep sleep. I have no idea how long I slept. When I woke up, the light in front of me seemed very far away. I could only see a white dot in the distance. I moved my hands to feel around, but there was nothing I could touch.

"Helpppp!" I screamed, but it was in vain.

I tried to run toward the distant white light, but the harder I tried, the further it seemed to move away. I cried until I couldn't make a sound anymore. I began to think, "Is this my death? Have I already died, or am I in the throes of death?" That white dot, could it be the door to my demise? "Oh God... I'm not ready to die..."

I kept screaming, "Forgive me, Allah, forgive me, Allah..." but nothing changed...

I stopped, thinking it was all over. Perhaps an angel would come for me. I paused again, trying to understand the words my mother always whispered to me when I was sick, "Just let go, son..."

"What does it mean to let go? Do I have to surrender?" I began to accept my fate if this was indeed my time to die, leaving everything behind without the chance to apologize to my parents. "Oh Allah, if You give me another chance, I will change my life and do my best. But if this is my time to die, take me in a state of Islam, forgive my sins, and make my parents happy. God willing, I am ‘letting go’."

With labored breathing, I recited the *shahada* and finished with a sense of relief. With a calm heart and a smile on my face, I whispered, "Allah... I am ready."

Suddenly, the distant light slowly approached. "Oh my God, is this the door to death or life?" I continued to smile, believing this was His Will.

Subhanallah... I woke up in my bed to see my brother holding my feet and my mother sitting on my chest. Allahu Akbar! I immediately hugged my mother. "Forgive me, Mom, forgive me."

Alhamdulillah, I saw that the clock showed it was 2 AM, and it was still dark outside the window. "Thank you, Allah, for the chance You've given me."

Part 3: Just Accept It

After struggling to wholeheartedly accept whatever is given by His grace, I began to live my days peacefully. It felt wonderful to breathe in the life He had given me. However, the effort to hold back emotions and observe everything that happened was still challenging.

Sometimes, I unintentionally acknowledged the unseen entities, like during my healing trip to Kediri. I was seated between my parents in the back seat of a red sedan—maybe a Civic or Corolla—driven by my brother-in-law. As I looked out the window, the road seemed crowded with "people" waving at me. I smiled and politely greeted them, as a Javanese would, "monggo mas, monggo mbak..." (please, sir, please, ma’am). My mother laughed and asked, "Who are you greeting, dear? Just sleep, it’s still Maghrib, and we’ll reach Kediri by night." I nodded and tried to sleep.

When I woke up, I was already lying on a patient bed in a clinic. "Why is the doctor holding a wooden hammer? Am I crazy, doctor?" I might have been rambling because the man in a white coat just stared into my eyes without answering. Then my parents helped me out of the room, where I saw some elderly people, maybe around 80 years old, gathered there. Wow, I really must have looked stressed for them to bring me here. I didn't think much of it and continued walking past a few odd-looking, floating creatures near a tree in front of the clinic. Hmm… better not overthink it, just get into the car and lie down. After that, I slept soundly, whatever the doctor gave me—perhaps morphine or something else—it allowed me to sleep and regain enough strength to at least walk to the bathroom properly. Alhamdulillah…

A few days later, still in the back room, about 20 steps from the entrance, which was not actually a closed room, I heard someone in front of me talking to me. It was Mr. AGT, a middle school teacher and my father's schoolmate. I was lying down with my eyes closed, conversing, as I couldn’t see clearly who approached me.

"How are you, son?"

"Good, sir."

"Do you still want to study metaphysical knowledge? If you do, follow me to Wlingi."

Hearing the word "Wlingi," I realized that he was referring to the metaphysical knowledge I had once studied. Wlingi is a town in Blitar Regency, where I had heard many mystical stories, some from practitioners of both black and white magic, especially those living at the foot of Mount Butak, above Serahkencong, a tea plantation area where I once hiked.

"No, sir, I just want to be an ordinary person; I’m not strong enough."

Then, I heard a loud voice from the living room and opened my eyes to see around.

"Come here, son, I’m in front."

What? I was talking with my inner eye? MasyaAllah, was it just my imagination again? With a clear view and senses, I quickly stood up and walked firmly to the living room.

"Mr. AGT..." I called out several times, but when did I call him? Ah, never mind, no more drama, let's just consider it imagination.

Then, step by step, he explained the cause of my illness. It seemed he knew which school of thought I had been involved in before, and he understood how many techniques and principles I had learned. After I assured him that I wouldn’t pursue that knowledge anymore, Mr. AGT said that after I left that school, I didn’t practice it anymore. But after physical training with a punching bag and double sticks in Blitar, I unintentionally applied those techniques again, and eventually, when I was in Malang, I accidentally attacked a friend using a technique I hadn’t practiced in a long time. Astagfirullahaladzim...

Mr. AGT didn’t mention the name of the friend I attacked. "Just forget it, what’s important now is that you know it's dangerous. Metaphysics may seem invisible, but it's actually just like physics—if you get hit, it hurts."

Apparently, the friend I "attacked" had similar knowledge. He reported it to his teacher, who then attacked me back, whether from a distance or up close, I didn’t want to discuss it. I had had enough. I didn’t want to waste my future, especially since I had promised the Almighty to improve my life. I hoped I could resist the temptation of such knowledge. Amen.

"What’s your favorite cigarette?" asked Mr. AGT quickly, and he immediately asked my parents to buy them.

"While smoking, it will be easier for you to focus on our conversation; that's the medium. Even if it’s metaphysical, there still needs to be a medium," he said, although I still don’t understand how metaphysics works logically. Haha, whatever.

After lighting my first cigarette, Mr. AGT asked about the papers he brought.

"What’s written here?"

"What, sir?" I slowly read from top to bottom.

"It seems like an exam answer sheet, sir. Why?" I asked while taking a deep puff of my cigarette.

"Oh… nothing you remember?" he interrupted.

Hmm, what is it? I reread it from the top, and suddenly I noticed a middle name on the answer sheet.

"This... this..." Before I could explain, he had already snatched the answer sheet from me and called my father, "Sir, please burn this in the west side of the house, say Bismillah first."

What? What is this? I think I recognize that name. Ah, let it be.

"Let’s continue, this is English," he handed me and asked me to light another cigarette.

"Okay, sir, I’ll read it again, right?"

"Yes… in your heart, no need to read aloud, just relax and smoke," he said while occasionally glancing at my father beside him as they chatted while I read the second paper. This writing seemed familiar to me. Ah, it couldn’t be mine, blue ink with English writing. I often sang English songs, but I was lazy to write since I burned my poetry book back in the second semester. Suddenly, I was startled...

"Why are there only 4 cigarettes left? Didn’t I just hold 12, sir?"

Then Mr. AGT handed the stack of papers in front of me to my father,

"Here, sir, burn them one by one along with the earlier ones. Don’t forget to say Bismillah."

Whatever it was, I was deeply grateful to him. "Thank you so much for your help, sir." I kissed his hand, but he quickly withdrew it and said, "Don’t repeat it if you really want to be an ordinary person, I’ve taken everything that disturbed you."

Since then, I could start functioning normally again, even without taking any more medication because my mother said the medicine was finished, even though there were still some in the cupboard. She deliberately didn’t want me to become dependent; she said that if I continued, I might lose confidence in my recovery. Whatever it was, I believed in my mother.

After that, I focused more on strengthening myself and ignoring unclear thoughts because the new semester was about to begin. One morning, a friend called my parents and asked why I hadn’t returned to Malang to arrange my semester study plan. Without hesitation, my mother replied, "He’s sick, DEPRESSION." Whattt??

It’s already out there, no need to be ashamed of the truth, it may be bitter, but keep fighting for the future.

Next part being write, so stay tune