CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - "The First Time Felt Amazing. The Second Time, I Lost a Week" Creepypasta

Episode Date: April 11, 2025

LISTEN TO CREEPYPASTAS ON THE GO-SPOTIFY► https://open.spotify.com/show/7l0iRPd...iTUNES► https://podcasts.apple.com/gb/podcast...Creepypastas are the campfire tales of the internet. Horror stories spread through Reddit r/nosleep, forums and blogs, rather than word of mouth. Whether you believe these scary stories to be true or not is left to your own discretion and imagination. SUGGESTED CREEPYPASTA PLAYLISTS-►"Good Places to Start"-    • "I wasn't careful enough on the deep ...  ►"Personal Favourites"-    • "I sold my soul for a used dishwasher...  ►"Written by me"-    • "I've been Blind my Whole Life" Creep...  ►"Long Stories"-    • Long Stories  FOLLOW ME ON-►Twitter:   / creeps_mcpasta  ►Instagram:   / creepsmcpasta  ►Twitch:   / creepsmcpasta  ►Facebook:   / creepsmcpasta  CREEPYPASTA MUSIC/ SFX- ►http://bit.ly/Audionic ♪►http://bit.ly/Myuusic ♪►http://bit.ly/incompt ♪►http://bit.ly/EpidemicM ♪This creepypasta is for entertainment purposes only

I'll start by saying that if I had known what this would lead to, I never would have touched it. I would have kept dragging myself through the exhaustion and creeping dread that had settled over my life. I would have let it crush me instead. But at the time, it didn't feel like a mistake. It felt like salvation. I was barely keeping it together, mentally, physically and emotionally. Work was draining the life out of me. Every morning, I woke up with the same exhausted groan,

accompanied by the all-too-familiar dull pain behind my eyes, as the realization that I had to get through another day of this hit me. My life had become a loop of meaningless emails and passive-aggressive meetings. My social life had deteriorated into scrolling through other people's happiness on Instagram. My body felt sluggish. and so did everything else. Then, out of nowhere, I got a text from Jason.

He was a guy I used to work with before he burned out worse than me. I hadn't heard from him in almost a year ever since he quit his job, went through a brutal breakup, and spiraled into some kind of depressive abyss. He wanted to meet up, and when we did,

I barely recognized him when he walked into the bar, Jason had always looked horrible. But as he stood in front of me, he looked like he had been reborn. His skin was clear and glowing. His eyes was sharp and full of life. Even the way he moved was different. I couldn't stop staring. What the hell happened to you? I finally asked. Jason just smiled. leaned back in his chair.

I figured it out. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, nondescript pillbox. White. It looked like ibuprofen at first glance. He set it on the table between us. I frowned.

What's that? Jason slid the box toward me. The answer. I picked it up. popped the lid open. Inside were dozens of small, white pills, perfectly uniform. No logo, no label. They could have been anything.

I raised an eyebrow. You selling me drugs now? Jason laughed. No, I don't sell them. I don't even know where to get more. I let out a dry chuckle and told him that this sounded like some rich Silicon Valley guy's new tech pro drug. some dumb, optimized performance crap. But Jason just shook his head.

So, where'd you get them? He hesitated just for a moment. Then he exiled, like he'd made peace with something. I can't explain it. Not in a way that'll make sense. But I don't need as many as I have, and I don't want to leave without giving you the chance. Leave?

Jason nodded. I'm moving, other side of the world. I don't think I'm coming back. That hit harder than I expected. Jason had been one of the few people who understood how miserable our lives had been. I set the pillbox down. Jason, man, I don't know about this. He held up a hand, cutting me off.

You don't have to take them. I'm not pushing anything. Just try one, one time. If you don't like it, toss the rest. He looked so at peace. And I was so tired. I took the pill that night. It was instant.

The moment the pill dissolved on my tongue, I felt something unlock inside me. Not a high, not like being drunk or stoned. Clarity. pure undiluted euphoria. My thoughts became razor sharp, every idea crystal clear. My body felt light. Every single inch of me just worked.

I felt entirely unstoppable. I lay back of my bed, staring at the ceiling, and realized I was smiling. A deep, unshakable contentment filled my chest. For the first time in years, I felt alive. After that, there was no crash, no sluggish come down, just the perfect, dreamless sleep. The next morning, I had woken up from the best sleep of my life, but better, like my body had been completely reset, Like every ounce of exhaustion, every creeping doubt, every bit of background stress I've been carrying for years had been scrubbed away.

I breathed through work like it was nothing. Every task effortless. I finished my entire workload before lunch. My boss even pulled me aside, eyes wide. I don't know what's gotten into you, but keep it up. This is some of the best work I've seen from you. It wasn't just work. People noticed more.

Conversations flowed easier. My jokes landed harder. I felt sharper, funnier, more confident than I ever had. By the end of the day, my phone was blowing up. Friends I hadn't talked to in months reaching out, wanting to hang out. I wasn't invisible anymore. That night, as I lay in bed. I had a thought circling around in my head.

Why wouldn't I take another? But I also did not want to depend on this, so I would hold off for a while, see if anything went wrong. I'd convinced myself that I would only use it when things got really bad, a boost to get me back on track. Maybe it was even some kind of placebo effect. brain waking up for the first time in years and tricking itself into feeling superhuman. But the next morning, when I rolled out of bed and felt the familiar drag of exhaustion pulling

at me, I knew it had worn off. I hesitated for a while. I even went through the motions of a normal morning, but it wasn't the same. That sharp clarity I felt yesterday was gone, like a door had been shut my brain. The temptation was there, whispering in the back of my head. Just one more. What's the harm? I gave in easier than I'd like to admit. The second pill hit just like the first. There was no slow build-up, no waiting period. The moment I swallowed it, my mind clicked into place, like someone had turned the lights on inside my skull.

The heaviness in my limbs vanished. I was instantly unburdened by hesitation or doubt. I was alive. Then I blinked, and an hour was gone. I stood in my bathroom, staring at my reflection. The last thing I remembered was taking the pill, checking the time and heading toward the sink to brush my teeth. But now it looked like I had just got done taking a shower. The water was running and the clock on the wall said it was past eight.

I turned off the faucet and wrote my face, trying to shake off the feeling of something being missing. But I felt better than fine. My body was humming with energy, the same exhilarating sensation I had felt before. Maybe I just sowned out or fallen into some kind of hyper-focused state. I wasn't about to overthink it, not when it felt this good. I moved through chores and work like there was second nature. Problems that would have normally taken me hours to work through now came with obvious solutions, as if my brain had already worked them out in the background.

When my boss dropped an urgent project on my desk, expecting it to take the rest of the day, I had finished it before lunch. That afternoon, he called me into his office. If you keep this up, we might have to talk about a real promotion. I nodded, acting cool. But inside, I was thrilled. I'd been stuck in this job for years, grinding through the same routine. And now, in less than a week, I was suddenly the best employee in the room.

The pill was working. I decided to go out with some of the people that had written me off a long time ago, after I had bailed one too many times or let texts sit unanswered. And when I showed up, I wasn't the quiet guy in the corner. I was the one keeping conversations going, the one people actually wanted to talk to. That's how I met Mia. It wasn't anything special, at least not at first. Just a random conversation at a bar, a mutual friend introducing us over drinks.

But unlike every other time I tried to flirt with someone, There was no awkwardness. The words came easily. The laughter felt natural. By the end of the night, we'd exchanged numbers. By the end of the week, we had gone on two dates. At night, I stood in front of my mirror, studying my own reflection. I looked so much more confident, the same way Jason had.

I wasn't going to stop. not when I had a whole box left. The night I lost a week, I was supposed to meet Mia for dinner. I'd been looking forward to it all day, but as I stood in front of my mirror, fixing my shirt, I felt something I never wanted to feel again. Sluggishness. My limbs felt heavy again.

My thoughts weren't as sharp. It was nothing extreme. But it was noticeable, the kind of creeping exhaustion I had all but tried to forget about. I knew what I had to do. I grabbed the pillbox from my dresser and popped one into my mouth. It sat on my tongue for a moment before dissolving. And just like that, the fog lifted. My heartbeat steadied.

My mind lit up. That was the last thing I remembered. I woke up in my bed. The first thing I noticed was the morning light bleeding through my blinds. That didn't make sense. My date had been at 7pm. I reached for my phone, blinking against the brightness. The screen showed the date.

It was seven days later. later. I sat up so fast I nearly fell out of bed. My first thought was Mia. I had missed our date. She must have been furious. And work. I had been out for a whole week. My boss was going to kill me. My bills, my emails, my texts. Everything was probably in ruins. I unlocked my phone, dreading what I was about to see. But there were no miscalls or panicked messages. I tried looking for a sign that anything was wrong, but I couldn't find anything.

I scrolled through my texts, breath catching in my throat, when I saw an unread message from Mia. Last night was amazing. I feel like I've known you forever. I can't wait to see you again. I stared at the message, rereading. it over and over. We had gone on another date.

I had been there. I checked my call log. I had spoken to people, texted them, replied to emails. My work schedule was completely normal. No absences. It was like I had lived the week perfectly. Except I didn't remember any of it. My hands were shaking when I decided to dial.

my co-worker. I had to know what was going on, and I had no other way of getting information that I could think of. He picked up almost immediately. Yo, what's up? I forced the casual tone. Not much, man, just checking in. How was work this week? There was a pause, then a chuckle. rough but you should know you were there my stomach dropped i tried again yeah of course just you know it was a blur remind me what happened he started listing off projects meetings conversations we'd had i hung up and called a close friend next same thing you good man they asked you've been on fire lately haven't seen you this sharp years. I could barely respond. My mouth had gone dry. Everyone remembered a week that I didn't live. My body had been awake, but I wasn't in it. The next number I called was Jason's. This number is no longer in service. I tried again and again, nothing. Jason was gone, probably.

already living life in that other country he was talking about. That night, I dumped the pillbox into the trash. I wasn't touching it ever again. But the moment I made my decision, my body betrayed me. It started with what felt like a mild headache pressing against my skull. By the next morning, the ache had grown into a full body fever. My muscles felt like they were sheds. It was shredding themselves apart. My skin was too tight, too hot, crawling with a thousand unseen insects. I curled up on my couch, drenched in sweat, gripping my stomach as waves of nausea rolled over me. I thought it would pass.

But it didn't. By the second day, I couldn't think straight. My brain felt fractured, like there was something inside it trying to dig its way out. My thoughts wouldn't connect. My vision blurred. My hands shook violently whenever I tried to hold anything. At one point, I swore I heard someone whispering my name. I turned my head so fast my neck cracked.

But there was no one there. By the third day, I wasn't sure what was real anymore. I stopped showing up to work. The job that had felt effortless. now felt impossible. Every email I tried to write came out as nonsense. I would stare at my screen for hours, my fingers frozen, my brain refusing to cooperate. My boss sent me a single message. What's going on with you? You were doing so well. I didn't answer. My friend stopped reaching out. At first they checked in, asked if I was okay.

But I was moody, volatile, paranoid. I would snap at them for no reason, then apologise the next day. Eventually, they stopped texting back. Mia was the last to go. She stuck around longer than I expected. She tried to be patient, but I could see it in her eyes. She didn't understand what had changed. One night, she'd.

She came over, sat next to me on my couch and said, You're different now, I didn't even argue. She left, and I didn't try to stop her. By the end of the week, I was completely alone. I had lost everything the pill had given me, my job, my friends, my mind, my body. But worst of all, I had lost who I could have been. Because I wasn't just feeling withdrawal.

I was feeling hollow. Like whatever had been inside me for that missing week had taken something with it when it left. And the only way to get it back was to take another pill. I held out as long as I could. I really did. I locked myself in my apartment,

trying to sweat it out, to fight through it. I promised I wouldn't touch it again. My body moved before I could stop it. I dug through the trash, hands shaking, tearing open the bag, searching for the pillbox. Halfway through, I realized how out of control I was, yet I couldn't do anything about it. I held one of the pills in my palm, staring at it. I didn't want to take it, but I didn't have a choice. I put it on my tongue and swallowed.

I woke up to the smell of fresh coffee, inexpensive perfume. Soft morning light filtered through the sheer white curtains. The bed beneath me was impossibly soft, the kind of mattress that swallowed you whole. For a moment, I thought I was dreaming. Then I turned my head. A woman was sleeping beside me. My pulse spiked. I sat up too fast, the sheets tangling around me as I struggled to get free.

My body felt different, stronger. This wasn't my bed. The realisation settled in my stomach like a stone. I swung my legs over the side and stood up, scanning the room. It was massive. A high-rise apartment, modern and sleek, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking a glittering city skyline. I had never been here before. There was a walking closet to my left, the door slightly ajar.

Inside, racks of expensive suits and designer shoes line the wall. walls. The shelves held watches that cost more than my rent used to. None of it was mine. But it was. I opened the bedside drawer and found a wallet with my ID, my name, my face. I turned to the nightstand and grabbed my phone, fingers trembling as I checked the lockscreen. The date stared back at me. One year later. I stopped breathing. A year. Not a week.

A full year. The room blurred around me, a sudden rush of nausea climbing up my throat. I gripped the edge of the dresser, struggling to keep myself upright. One year. I had lost an entire year. But somehow, I had still been here. I unlocked my phone with a shell. baking hands, scrolled through months of text messages I didn't recognize.

At the top was a chat with Mia. My breath hitched. I opened it. We had kept dating. We had traveled together. She had sent pictures of us at expensive restaurants on boats in different countries. There were videos of me smiling, laughing, talking about how amazing life had been. I had proposed to her.

There was a photo of a hand, a diamond ring shining against the skin. I read the messages trying to force a single memory to the surface. But there was nothing. I was looking at someone else's life. A better life, a perfect life, and I hadn't been here to live it. I backed out of my texts and checked my bank account. The balance nearly made me drop the phone. Millions.

I had become insanely wealthy. Whatever had been using my body for the past year. It had played the part flawlessly. I scrolled through emails. I had a high-powered job now. Something in finance. Something I knew I had never been qualified. for. I had clients, colleagues who respected me. I was a completely different person.

And nobody seemed to notice. Mia stirred in her bed. I flinched. She sat up, stretching, her hair falling in waves over her shoulders. She turned to me with an easy familiarity, smiling like she had done this a hundred times before. Morning, baby, she murmured, voice heavy with sleep. I felt like I was going to be sick. I stumbled out of the bedroom and into the hallway, my breath coming fast and shallow. The apartment was pristine, enormous. Every service was sleek and polished, every piece of furniture meticulously chosen.

I made my way to the kitchen, hands gripping the counter as I tried to steady myself. What was I supposed to do? I couldn't tell anyone. I couldn't say, hey, I actually haven't been here for the past year. Can you tell me what happened? My life was perfect, and everything I had ever wanted. But none of it belonged to me. Because I wasn't the one who had built it.

I took a shaky breath trying to think. Could I fake it? Just pick up where my body had left off. Learn the routines, read through my messages, figure out how to become this version of me. Or should I try to stop it? Find out what really happened. Make sure it never happened again.

I wasn't sure what the right answer was. But then, my hand moved. Not on its own. I could feel myself doing it. I was reaching, but I wasn't making the choice. My fingers brushed against something cold and smooth on the counter. I looked down. The pillbox.

The same one Jason had given me. The same one I had thrown away. The same one. I had sworn off forever. It was waiting. I stared at the pill in my hand. I knew what would happen. But even as I tried to resist, I felt it.

That pull, that impossible temptation. I had taken one to lose an hour, one to lose a week, one to lose a year. And now. As the pill pressed against my lips, I wondered, how much would I lose this time?