it started as a sleep diary. ended in clarity.
A friend bluntly proposed the other day that dreams have no meaning. As someone who was raised religiously, I suppose I’ve always thought they had to. Left and right I was told about the dreams my mother would have of God, or the ones she’d have that were a bad sign, trying to tell her to change something in her life (The next town for us to live in has literally been picked before based on her dreams and what God is “telling” her). This way of thinking has made it so I never stop thinking. When I wake up I keep myself awake analyzing what I dreamt of.
This time a train, a dead wolf, and someone important to me- who was emotionally crushed because they couldn’t save it. I think I saw the same staircase in a nightmare of a basement where I wasn’t alone. Even recalling that disturbs me.
I’d normally assume that this is guilt symbolism, that I need to fix what I’m doing wrong in my life to stop feeling said guilt. But I was over the moon happy before I slept. I wasn’t feeling bad. A few times now I’ve had this experience… being happier than I thought I could ever feel, really, but waking up panicked or confused.
Are dreams nothing more than your head blending its memory bank and stirring the straw?
Some people dream fucked up things that they’d never want to happen. I’m not so certain that there IS some hidden desire, or the subconscious trying to make you aware of something.
Perhaps not always? Trauma will find you there, but other things are at random.
I’ve had a nightmare of my mother crumbling into dust in my hands, and it all being my fault because I messed with forces that weren’t Christian. Nightmares of being hunted down or watched. Nightmares of killing myself (and it being out of my control), which I still suffer from.
I recently heard from a speaker that her dreams of suicidal ideation eventually went away as she healed. It was like I took a breath after holding it for so long. I want them to dissolve, I want that too. I’m fairly stable in my waking hours… I don’t want that reminder anymore.
There’s a recurring nightmare I’ve had since I was little of a large wheel, a scene from Scooby Doo that wasn’t scary, etc. This is one I’d always enter a delusional, half-awake state due to.
I had night terrors as a child, far before I even knew of anything to be that scared of. Apparently locking myself in the washroom and screaming. I would sleep walk, would fall down stairs, would mutter strange things. Once or twice the muttered things were related to things I was worried about, crazed rambling about needing helmets when I was going to be rollerblading the next day.
I couldn’t help but think things were inexplicably linked.
Someone I talked with once had a sexual nightmare about a parent. When you hear things like this, knowing full well that’s not what they want at all, things are finally clearer.
Maybe sometimes food is eaten too close to bed or there’s hunger/dehydration and a physical disturbance turns into horrors in the dream-scape. I think most people have had a nightmare at least once about pissing yourself if you downed glass after glass of water beforehand. It could be less complex psychologically. Certainly less connected to spirituality.
I was told that if I prayed to God, He would keep me safe. He never stopped the nightmares. This isn’t to say I’m angry with God for not taking them away. There might not be God. Thinking there was… kept me paranoid about appeasing being the only way to avoid death. If I ever believed in Him again for some reason, it wouldn’t be to impress or be saved from damnation.
Kinda cool, realizing that my nightmares haven’t been too different between being a person of so-called faith and where I am now. My life is my own. It feels so good to recognize that.
I may still tend to capitalize His name out of ingrained teachings of fearful respect but he does not hold anything over me. Let it be said, he does not.
What realistically keeps me safe is rational security measures and the people I love.
With sexual touch, sometimes it’s harder to sleep. I think it has more to do with feeling physically uncomfortable if I’m focusing on it. Might just need a good shower, not a dose of sexual repression and regret.
Sexual guilt is an oddity in itself. I’ve gone through a few phases of incessantly repeating “I’m sorry” in a fit of tears after touching myself. I don’t know which reason wins out for this. Apologizing to my body for the sensory overload, or feeling grossed out about what I had to think of to feel anything, or feeling bad for thinking about someone that way when they’re not around. Then I also just miss childhood feverishly… masturbation in particular feels like a forceful throw into new territory.
Been trying to figure this out, I’m tired of doing things by habit. Tired of looking to “normal” to base my choices around. I don’t want to cry until my nose bleeds or I nearly puke anymore.
I’d thought the guilt was induced by girls, time after time being allowed to look but not touch- being an emotional support dog but claiming I wasn’t such. Truth be told, I’ve only liked one girl particularly in a sexual sense, and I don’t think I struggled much to avoid touching the others.
It USED to be parent induced guilt. I could call it by another name, religious guilt, but that wouldn’t be true. Would it? I’m up and down with this since it’s almost like I never believed personally. The one thing I had faith in was that most of my mother’s expectations or views were correct.
Hm, current sexual guilt could be disguised self hatred actually. “They wouldn’t want someone like ME thinking of them this way.” What’s so wrong with someone like me? With me? After going through a university class that talks about the Westernized therapy approach of figuring out what’s wrong with someone, as opposed to “what happened to you?” I think I’m learning things. Thanks, post-secondary.
When I wake up, I usually hallucinate. This has happened starting this year, and what’s been different? I’ve been sleeping with my bedroom light on, directly above me this time, in this house. If anything that’s messing with my head and my vision. You know when you stare into the sun for some blasted reason? Thinking- I don’t know- that this single time you won’t blind yourself and will be able to see what the sun looks like? Then there’s this sphere of pink or white or something hazey everywhere you look. My visual hallucinations tend to look like that, but with words or unrecognizable script. These aren’t prophetic- sometimes it’s a random username of jumbled letters. Hypnopompic hallucinations, perhaps.
Someday I won’t be so scared of the dark. I’ve been going downstairs with the lights off a few times. “I’m not going to let this obsessive fear get in the way of making a good cup of tea, or putting something away.” I’ve had some success.
I’ve had physical hallucinations a rare few times, someone touching my leg, and the feeling of pressure on my chest. The fingers tracing on my leg felt reminiscent of the time I got groped. I’m not sure what’s going on with the pressure, but it usually goes along with visions of myself drowning or someone trying to suffocate me. Unfortunate at times, but that’s life. Sleep paralysis is pretty common anyhow.
Sleep hygiene is a curious thing.
Learning to save the bed for sleep and little else, to do mind-occupying things outside of it. I find this difficult because my mother owns the main floor, as keeping the TV on all day is usually the only thing to keep her sane. I’ve tried sitting on my bedroom floor. A creature of habit, most days I slink back into bed. I think it’ll get easier with time. It does come with a sense of relief and comfort: easing under the covers after living a day.
And then... there’s him. Beautiful, wonderful him. Sleep comes easy. I don’t know how to write a smile as a word here. “Him” will have to do.
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