I used to love dreaming. I used to dream of my Nana and picnics. I used to dream that I lived with Native American Indians every night. I used to dream that I could see and visit loved ones that passed away. I don’t dream those dreams anymore. My dreams have turned to nightmares. Reminders. I don’t want reminders. I don’t know why they come. Are they being purged? If so then why do I need repeaters? Something I need to face? Well frankly I am tired of facing new old things. Really, my plate overfloweth with garbage from that past that is being sifted through and discarded. New things really upset me. Last night I had a dream that I was in the hospital and desperately needed a ride home. Everyone from my past, my family, my friends, were all playing football in the hospital waiting room as if I wasn’t even there needing to be taken home after surgery. That stupid seemingly meaningless dream morphed into the truth about my past. I was so in need of help and everyone was just acting out their lives around me oblivious. Completely oblivious. This dream took me to the truth that I really am quite tired of remembering. One event that was especially bothersome.
I became sick when I was 18 years old. It was when my doctors now think that I contracted Lyme disease because I had also Rocky Mountain spotted fever. At that time I had quit working as a professional waterskiier and moved in with my boyfriend to get away from the lake and the memories of the childmolester ski coach. When I got sick I was very much alone. I was very very sick. I had extreme weakness and vertigo. That spring break my brother had come home from college with his college friend and my dad wanted us to go to the beach. Or maybe it was senior spring break. Funny, I don’t recall. I missed my senior year of highschool being in a mental hosptial and all. So my time frame, much to my family’s dismay is always a little off. My facts are always correct. But the year and the exact time is sometimes off. Abuse and PTSD can affect time. They don’t know that because they are selfish pricks. Anyway, I was so sick but dad didn’t really acknowledge that. He insisted I go to the beach with them and so I did. I remember two things about that trip. My dad asking me to go down to the beach where he and my brother and his friend were playing football. That was the first. It took all the strength I had to walk down to that beach. I sat down and almost immediately my dad and brother and friend tossed the football in my direction, one of them caught it and fell on top of me and hurt me. I started to cry but no one cared. They were so into what they were doing they were oblivious to me. Just like in my dream. I walked up to the hotel. I didn’t matter. The second thing I remember is the hot tub. I didn’t bring a bathing suit because I knew I was too sick to get in the water. They all wanted me to get in the hot tub. I did. I was so obedient to every one else’s wishes. I got into the hot tub. I felt immediately sick. They had been drinking alcohol. I stood up and my dad immediately drug his finger down the front of my shirt and in between my breasts and commented that I was not wearing a bra. They were all drunk. I am sure if you asked any of them they won’t remember. I do. I didn’t matter. At 18 years old, not even living at home, I was repeatedly brought back in and shown that I did not matter.
My dad, brother, entire family are all gone now. Not dead. Just no longer in my life all of their own choosing except my father. I ended my relationship with my father. The family just chose to side with him. But I ended it with him. I couldn’t let him disappointment me anymore and I couldn’t go on with these lies about the past eating at me. The truth had to be told . They don’t like the truth. Never have. I told the truth at 43 years of age and poof they were gone. My dreams just remind me that I should have been the one to poof them out of my life long long ago. I was unable to though. I didn’t see them for who they were. I was molded, brainwashed, and weak.
I don’t want to remember them. I don’t want to fall asleep and be reminded of how many people let me fall and stepped on me when I was down there. I don’t want to dream anymore.
I do have a plan though. I plan to discuss these dreams in therapy. Perhaps, if I go back to that time while I am awake, and choosing, I can create a new image. Perhaps I can save myself, punch my father in the face, choose not to go to the beach at all, had a voice. Perhaps in doing that I can give my body and mind what it never got before, validation, love, respect, and I will stop dreaming. It’s worth a shot. I don’t have much control over what happens in my dreams. It is helpless there. Which seems so unfair! I’m going to try and change that. I can only hope that facing each thing that comes up in my dreams head on will make them disappear.