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.
During my therapy session we discussed a second dream where prominent black men in the community were starved to death. The men were dead, in straight jackets, laying on the floor with their wives wailing over them. It was heart wrenching to see and hear. Then the dream switched to a hallway where about a hundred or so men dressed as women in black dresses and black head coverings crawled across the floor in a mass, all ceremoniously wailing and grieving. They were dressed as local women so as not to be killed. They were nearly out of the building but one gigantic man saw his enemy and stood up, grabbed him and stabbed him in the chest 7 times. He stabbed him over hand style with amazing force. The man victim had no chance whatsoever to fight back or deflect the blows.
What is so upsetting about the dream is that the killer paid no mind to the consequences of his actions. By standing up from the group he revealed that the men were escaping. He got everyone and himself slaughtered because he wanted revenge. He couldn’t control himself, wouldn’t control himself and got everyone killed.
Dr. D said that he wondered this symbolized me killing my mother. He said the consequences of fighting back as a child and young adult were too severe but safe to do in a dream. I said, no, I believe I am symbolized by everyone in the dream except the killer. I’m the men starved to death. I’m the women grieving. I’m the men dressed as someone else. I’m the men who are close to safety but never make it, but I’m not the killer. The killer is my mother who struck out regardless of the consequences to her children. She was ruthless, unpredictable, viscous. Just like the killer in this dream, my mother was significantly taller and larger than others, she seemed all-powerful and unstoppable.
What I took from the dream wasn’t that I want revenge for what my mother put her kids through, the dream shows the aftermath of what she put her kids through. It shows the starvation for peace of mind but not finding enough to sustain me. It shows the total insanity of life as a survivor of abuse. It shows the fear that I may never be safe if she continues to reign over my night time dreams.