I have a couple of recurring nightmares, ones I have at least once a month. They both involve wasps. I'm deathly afraid of wasps. It's a completely irrational fear. What is the worst thing a wasp can do to you? Sting you. It hurts. So what? I'm a little bit into pain. I like the feeling of getting a tattoo, not to mention I used to cut myself. What gives? There is no rhyme or reason. To run when I see a wasp is a completely ingrained response. And uncontrollable. I've tried.
Dream 1 that haunts me is short. My family (Dad, Mom, Brother, Husband, and I) are vacationing in a cabin somewhere. We are in the common area, playing a board game. Always a board game. There is a knock at the door. My Dad goes to answer it. When he opens the door, a giant wasp flies in. One bigger than I've ever seen. I scream and yell for something to kill it. I run down a long hallway and into a bed room. I slam the door shut, only to realize there is a large gap at the bottom of the door. I'm frantically trying to stuff a towel into the gap when the bee flies under the door and lands on my leg. I scream and it stings me. I am trying to swat the wasp off my leg, but it won't budge. I continue to scream and try to get it off me, and that's when I wake up.
Dream 2 is just weird. I'm in a boat with one of my high school girlfriends and my husband's ex-wife. We are in a speedboat being taken out to the middle of the ocean. We are in the middle of nowhere when the boat tips over, and we are plunged into the water. Apparently, this is a race to see who gets back to shore first. I begin furiously paddling in the direction of the shore, when I realize the water is full of tiny jellyfish. The jellyfish begin to sting me and it just makes me swim faster, scared out of my mind. I finally reach the shore and collapse on the beach. My high school friend and my husband's ex-wife have disappeared at this point, it's only me on shore. A woman with long brown hair meets me on the shore and announces I am the winner of the race. I must get cleaned up for my interview and trophy ceremony. She escorts me to a shower room, much like those you would find at a public pool or gym. There are a million showers out in the open, but very few with a stall and curtain. I'm hurrying around trying to find a stall, when I realize people are running and getting into the private showers. My only option is to shower out in the open. There is no way I'm doing this. I decide to go home and shower. I walk out of the room, and outside. Down a long path to a log cabin, which is apparently my home. I open the door and find my husband reading on the couch. I tell him I won the race and I must shower for the interview. I go into a bedroom. I immediately look up and there is a wasp near the ceiling. I back out of the room and yell for my husband to kill it. I realize there are 3-4 wasps near the ceiling in the hallway, and I run back to the living room. There are even more wasps in the living room, near the ceiling and all in the blinds on the windows. I'm screaming to my husband to kill them. He is crazily running around trying to kill all the wasps when he shouts that he doesn't know where they are coming from. It appears even more wasps are entering the home and I'm just screaming. This is when I wake up.
These are weird dreams. I obviously can't decipher them. From what I've researched on the internet about dream interpretation (not a very scientific topic) wasps symbolize evil. I'll buy that. The first dream is all about trying to keep the evil out, but it seeps in anyway. Very similar to the way memories and images have been creeping into my brain, while my brain is desperately trying to keep them away. The second dream? There are so many facets of this dream, I just have no idea. My high school friend, my husband's ex-wife, the jellyfish, the showers, the wasps. They all could mean something. Interestingly enough, jellyfish are supposed to represent painful memories that are emerging from your subconscious. Whoa. Not sure if I believe all that dream interpretation bullshit.
I've had nightmares all my life, but very few recurring nightmares. These are new, they started about 7 months ago. Along with everything else.
It's been a hell of a ride so far, and unfortunately, I think it's just beginning.
Showing posts with label nightmares. Show all posts
Showing posts with label nightmares. Show all posts
Monday, June 25, 2012
Sunday, June 24, 2012
Where Did It All Begin?
I'm 4 days away from my first appointment with a psychiatrist, and I've pondered this thought for a long time now. Ever since I kinda, sorta put the puzzle pieces together, I've been reaching and straining to really, really put the pieces together.
It's just not that easy. What I have recovered are more like flashes of images, not actual memories that play like a movie in your mind. I want to remember, because I want to heal, but obviously my mind is not ready to concede. I know this. Sometimes at night, when I am laying in bed, waiting for the Ambien, Noritriptyline, and Hydroxyzine to kick in, I try to remember.
I have lots of memories from this time period (3-5 years of age), but none fit together in a succinct timeline. I felt a lot of fear as a kid. I remember my mom leaving me at daycare, and crying inconsolably for hours because she had left me. I remember being horribly afraid of the dark, to the point of panic if I was completely in the dark without my nightlight. I suffered from terrible nightmares as a child, dreaming about everything from ghosts, to serial killers, to killer clowns. I was convinced there was something under my bed that would grab my legs and pull me under if I got out of bed at night. My window shades in the room had to be tightly shut with no way to look in. Because, you know, if you could see in my window, the aliens would see me and take me away. I honestly believed that if I looked in the mirror at night, there would be a ghostly image of a girl who would pull me in. I still avoid mirrors at night to this day.
I remember my grandmother's (my mother's mother) house that she lived in at this time. It was right next door to my parent's house and 2 houses down, my aunt, uncle (one of my mom's brother's, the sane one), and cousins lived there. I remember my grandmother's front door, her living room, her kitchen. I also remember the room that my uncle (my mother's other brother, the not-so-sane one) lived in, the way the window was positioned, his wood bed, the furniture, his ash tray on the bedside table. I cannot, for the life of me, remember her bathroom or her living room couch. I have an image in my mind of my uncle rubbing me on her couch, but I can only feel the couch against my skin and see the couch as separate from the room. I cannot picture the room with the couch in it.
My uncle was bipolar and schizophrenic. He had a pattern of going off his meds, and disappearing for months at a time, not contacting anyone in the family to let them know where he was. He would always return, docile and completely medicated. When I was 5, my parents decided to leave the town I was born in and move 60 miles south. I remember during this time that my uncle was not allowed to contact my family. Not by phone, not by letter, and definitely not to see me or my brother. My parents told us that he was addicted to valium and until he went to rehab, he wasn't allowed to have any contact with us. I was 7 when some sort of deal was reached between my parents and my uncle. My uncle apparently went to rehab, and later moved to the town where we had moved to. I'll save this story for another time, but my uncle disappeared permanently when I was 16. Off his meds, and into a life of homelessness.
For as long as I can remember, something was amiss between my mother and her mother. They never got along, and my mom could barely stand speaking to my grandmother. My dad was the go-between, and he was actually the one who took care of my grandmother as she was dying. My mother rarely visited her mother as she was dying, and could barely bring herself to see her before she passed.
Now that I'm where I'm at, pondering what has made me the way I am, I'm wondering how there could be so much I didn't see as a child. Could my uncle have been harming me, and my parents found out? Is that why we moved? Is that why I wasn't allowed to see my uncle? If so, why would they let him back in our lives? Did my grandmother know about this? Did she know about this and not do anything, and that's what happened between my grandmother and mom? If this did happen, why didn't my parents tell me? How could they not see a link in how troubled I was, the constant headaches, the stomach problems, the drugs, the promiscuity? How could they know, and yet, let me suffer?
I'm struggling with where I am today. My grandmother is dead, I cannot ask her what happened. My mother is such an emotionally shut down person, I couldn't imagine ever asking her these questions. My dad is an intelligent and very caring person, so I imagine there will be a time in the future when we will be sitting down and discussing this. In the meantime, I will continue to wonder where it all started. I will continue to reach for memories, despite the fact my mind tells me I don't want to remember. I just have to know. I just have to.
It's just not that easy. What I have recovered are more like flashes of images, not actual memories that play like a movie in your mind. I want to remember, because I want to heal, but obviously my mind is not ready to concede. I know this. Sometimes at night, when I am laying in bed, waiting for the Ambien, Noritriptyline, and Hydroxyzine to kick in, I try to remember.
I have lots of memories from this time period (3-5 years of age), but none fit together in a succinct timeline. I felt a lot of fear as a kid. I remember my mom leaving me at daycare, and crying inconsolably for hours because she had left me. I remember being horribly afraid of the dark, to the point of panic if I was completely in the dark without my nightlight. I suffered from terrible nightmares as a child, dreaming about everything from ghosts, to serial killers, to killer clowns. I was convinced there was something under my bed that would grab my legs and pull me under if I got out of bed at night. My window shades in the room had to be tightly shut with no way to look in. Because, you know, if you could see in my window, the aliens would see me and take me away. I honestly believed that if I looked in the mirror at night, there would be a ghostly image of a girl who would pull me in. I still avoid mirrors at night to this day.
I remember my grandmother's (my mother's mother) house that she lived in at this time. It was right next door to my parent's house and 2 houses down, my aunt, uncle (one of my mom's brother's, the sane one), and cousins lived there. I remember my grandmother's front door, her living room, her kitchen. I also remember the room that my uncle (my mother's other brother, the not-so-sane one) lived in, the way the window was positioned, his wood bed, the furniture, his ash tray on the bedside table. I cannot, for the life of me, remember her bathroom or her living room couch. I have an image in my mind of my uncle rubbing me on her couch, but I can only feel the couch against my skin and see the couch as separate from the room. I cannot picture the room with the couch in it.
My uncle was bipolar and schizophrenic. He had a pattern of going off his meds, and disappearing for months at a time, not contacting anyone in the family to let them know where he was. He would always return, docile and completely medicated. When I was 5, my parents decided to leave the town I was born in and move 60 miles south. I remember during this time that my uncle was not allowed to contact my family. Not by phone, not by letter, and definitely not to see me or my brother. My parents told us that he was addicted to valium and until he went to rehab, he wasn't allowed to have any contact with us. I was 7 when some sort of deal was reached between my parents and my uncle. My uncle apparently went to rehab, and later moved to the town where we had moved to. I'll save this story for another time, but my uncle disappeared permanently when I was 16. Off his meds, and into a life of homelessness.
For as long as I can remember, something was amiss between my mother and her mother. They never got along, and my mom could barely stand speaking to my grandmother. My dad was the go-between, and he was actually the one who took care of my grandmother as she was dying. My mother rarely visited her mother as she was dying, and could barely bring herself to see her before she passed.
Now that I'm where I'm at, pondering what has made me the way I am, I'm wondering how there could be so much I didn't see as a child. Could my uncle have been harming me, and my parents found out? Is that why we moved? Is that why I wasn't allowed to see my uncle? If so, why would they let him back in our lives? Did my grandmother know about this? Did she know about this and not do anything, and that's what happened between my grandmother and mom? If this did happen, why didn't my parents tell me? How could they not see a link in how troubled I was, the constant headaches, the stomach problems, the drugs, the promiscuity? How could they know, and yet, let me suffer?
I'm struggling with where I am today. My grandmother is dead, I cannot ask her what happened. My mother is such an emotionally shut down person, I couldn't imagine ever asking her these questions. My dad is an intelligent and very caring person, so I imagine there will be a time in the future when we will be sitting down and discussing this. In the meantime, I will continue to wonder where it all started. I will continue to reach for memories, despite the fact my mind tells me I don't want to remember. I just have to know. I just have to.
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