This morning's nightmares are the straw that could break the camels back as I struggle with the emotional side of health and pain levels. In order to keep walking the line I need to take a moment to breathe.
I feel a bit angry. I woke up angry from dreams and memories that disgust me. There are the sounds of abuse that haunt me that will be drowned out by my choice of music and honestly a few tears. It feels important to take a moment, pause, let myself cry and then go forward.
During this breather I'm not answering the phone or texting but there will be a lot of emergency self soothing. I'm planning grilled cheese sandwiches and soup. I'm going to snuggle with my electric blanket that smells of lavender.
Today it's me, Super Clyde, my sketchbook and a big pot of tea. In a beautiful, hot, lavender and rose bath, I'm going to wash away every bit of last night's dreams and make sure I have enough inner strength to be productive.
There's something about having another living thing making noise that helps me feel less alone. Skip to 20 seconds for the start. His big performance is at 55 seconds. This is what Clyde does while doing his service dog duties of laying on my legs to help with the pain. He falls asleep and snores. Gotta love it.
There was one night when he snored so loudly that he woke me. I was groggy from medication and not clear who was snoring. I had to talk to myself to bring me back to 2017 where I do not sleep in a room with my sister. Usually his snoring doesn't trigger it, it makes me feel safe but some of the content of my therapy session concerning abuse got mixed up in current reality and grog. ...continue reading "Snoring. Dreaming of Flashbacks. Losing Mary Jane."
I had a dream that I had two roommates in a house where students rented rooms. I was a renter as well. I had permission to decorate the living room which I did with plants and art. Then some other student came in and completely rearranged the living room using my plants and my art.
He moved it all around the way he wanted it. I got in his face and yelled at him bc he wasn't listening to reason. I tried to purposely offend him by calling him out of his name but nothing worked. No one would tell him to stop. It didn't matter that he was the newest roommate, he could do what he wanted to do. ...continue reading "Dream: Free Reign. Hatred and Racism"
I've tried to write this entry since Monday but I've run from it. I don't really want to write it because it hurts.
Therapy was hard, as usual. We went over the dream where the man was stabbed in the hallway. As I told Dr. D the part about hearing the man stabbed to death while hiding in the closet, Dr. D blurted out, "You know that's your brother, right?" I said, "Yes, and my sister." Here I am age 46 and I can still hear them both scream. I can still feel the fear as if I were backed in a corner watching, again. I told Dr. D that hearing my siblings abused or seeing it happen often felt worse than being abused myself. I remember it so clearly and I am certain it's what divides us to this day. ...continue reading "Therapy Review – Slaughtering Peace of Mind"
Entry Content: In some areas the dream was funny, strange and then ended violently. There is some sexual conversation, no abuse of children. Violent stabbing deaths. Mention of self injury.
Dream: I was standing in line in a food court with two restaurants serving my favorite food on both sides, but I was in a different line for a free hamburger. I stood in a very long line for what felt like forever. Finally I was at the front and ready for my order when a family of four walked right up to the front and began placing an order. I explained I'd been there and politely went on ordering but they kept talking to me. The family was so nice and talkative that I didn't realize while they talked to me, more family members arrived and ordered their meal for 15 people right under my nose. For my inconvenience, and much to my delight, the company gave me a free 13 inch sweet potato pie with my hamburger. ...continue reading "Dream Therapy: Murder and Powerlessness 1"
Feelings upon waking:
Fearful. Fearful! I was trembling as my mind went over the crazy parts of this dramatic dream. After I woke I kept saying, 'I'm sorry' over and over again as if somehow dreaming something so violent was my fault. In addition to that guilt, there was guilt for not helping the man in the hallway who was viciously and savagely killed. I listened to him scream and die while cowering behind the closet door. I was anxious and regrettably chewed up my fingers. This is self harm.
This dream is one day old but it's still a heavy one for me, especially since it resulted in an attack on myself. Why self-injury? To change the fear emotion that overtook me and to counter, over shadow flashbacks caused by the dream. I was shaking in bed, apologizing out loud for being weak. I wasn't thinking about the consequences of my actions. I was caught in emotion. I was not thinking straight. Another apology is needed, this time to myself. ...continue reading "Dream Therapy: Murder and Powerlessness 2"
Dr. D wanted me to think about the dream from May 22, 2017 that we discussed in our session. I went back and highlighted words for us to discuss in our next session. This dream brought up quite a bit.
In the dream I got off an elevator and walked down the hallway to my apartment. As I did I saw a man leaving my apartment with a big box. He'd robbed me. He didn't try to hide his face. He left the door open. The thief took my cat Mary Jane. He took every piece of art I have including off the walls. He took all the stamps I handmade and my tea collection. When I saw that all my art was gone I laid on the bed and cried. He stole my blankets and pillows and left the bed with just a red sheet. He took everything, and got away with it.
Dr. D asked what I think the dream means. I told him it's exactly how I feel right now, robbed and at times powerless. The red sheets are interesting though. It's a power color, primarily positive for me. Even when a person is stripped and knocked down it doesn't mean they are without hope. However, in the dream, I was devastated and felt targeted. The man stole all my art. That hurt so badly. By stealing my art, he stole my voice. The theft felt personal. The brazen, unmasked robber took my comfort and security and he got away with it. (cue mother issues).
My mother is dead. My brother is dead. My sister is wasting away, drowning in guilt, anger and fear. I have no inheritance. Its gone because my mother did not protect it. No one thinks to themselves, I may have someone take over everything because I'm going to develop Alzheimer's.
In 1992 when I left that home I knew I'd caused major upset in family dynamics. When I changed my name I knew I'd given up absolutely everything that would have come to me, everything. The thing is, do we ever really expect our parents to die when we look at them as gods? When they stand tall as tyrants over the children they abuse, they're seen as all powerful, unstoppable. There is no future, there's nothing to ground you, nothing to hold on to. So how could I have really known she'd truly disown me and that she and my sister would pretend I do not exist? It wasn't until 2012 that I discovered they'd erased me from their lives. She presented herself as a woman with one daughter. My sister presented herself as an only child.
As a child, my mother showed only her professional side to onlookers. She was well put together and had guys flanking her. If you've ever seen a guy rush to open a door for a pretty girl, that's what happened to my mother all the time. She truly was physically beautiful, but her focus was money and doling out pain.
It wasn't quite like the movie Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome because Tina Turner didn't show up fierce or sing that awesome song, but it was a wasteland full of mad men. Follow up comments explain why this is typical of how my dreams take me in this direction.
In the dream I was in a place that felt like a modern day devastated city that never grew another tree or flower from the point of devastation forward. Trees and flowers that survived never grew another inch, nor did they die. The place I lived was like a large outdoor prison setting with bunk beds and other housing made of fallen trees and scraps of metal. It wasn't a prison, it was a psychiatric ward. I was sent there for the death of three children; me, my sister and my brother.
The psychiatric compound housed people who were cannibals, murderers and social throwaways. We were pit against one another for the pleasure of the guards. We endured our own issues and battled the issues of others. Still, some of us were able to grow close to one another in confidence. I had two friends, both cannibals, both sent to the compound for eating large parts of their own flesh. I remember thinking how hard it must have been to fight those thoughts. They knew it wasn't normal yet they had to do it and others were well aware of what they'd done. That wasn't a life I ever wanted.