Nightmare city tonight…
It’s not secret I’m freaked out by thunderstorms. They were predicting them all day. They never arrived. That’s a good thing. As I’ve written out the dream, I’ve put some comments in parentheses, mostly possible symbolism.
So in this dream, I’m in some sort of a summer house with a sun room. You know, one of those glassed in room deals (feelings of exposure). I’m sleeping on the floor and my mother is sleeping in the bed. Why in the world is the sun room set up like a bedroom (so much happened in the bedroom)? No idea. The dream starts out with me sleeping.
All of a sudden it starts storming. Just a little storm, nothing really bad. The type of lightening that just lights up the whole sky and some rumbling thunder. But it’s enough to wake me up in the dream.
So I wake up and after a minute or so, the little thunder storm turns into a rip roaring insane storm. The lightening is the cloud to ground kind. The thunder is the kind that booms and shakes the entire house. In the dream, the lightening changes colors, usually centered around the reds and golds (anger???). At times it seems to be in slow motion. As I’m busy freaking out, I keep thing “Oh wow, this would make an awesome picture.” (trying to find some normalcy???).
I sit up and I’m shaking. I’m doing the whole hypervigilance thing. I’m waiting for the walls of this flimsy sun room to blow in or out at any moment. I can see them bending and hear them groaning as the wind blows. I start screaming.
If the dream stopped there, I don’t think it would have bugged me so much. But in this dream, I start clinging to my mother. I’m an adult in the dream, but I literally wrapped myself around her legs. It wasn’t her reaction that bothers me. She basically just kicked me away. It was me as an adult going to her for comfort when I know damn well, she wouldn’t do anything to help. The futility of it all is what drives me crazy.
I know I long for a mother figure and a father figure. I long for parents who would have loved and nurtured me. I don’t think that’s all that abnormal. In fact, if I didn’t, I think I’d be more worried about my mental health.
So basically, it’s 3:30 AM. I’m waiting for the Ativan to kick in. I’m biding my time by writing this and fooling around on Facebook (god can that be a time sink). I have the irrational longing to go to the convenient store across the street and buy a couple beers to get rip roaring drunk, either that or a bottle of Soju (10 bucks versus a buck). I won’t, because I’ve taken the Ativan and rationality should ensue quickly. And I won’t because I know that getting drunk won’t solve anything. Oh yes, and I actually need to get stuff accomplished tomorrow (errrr…. today) and being hungover would definitely put a kink in the getting stuff done mode.
OK, random thought before I go to bed. This is well over 500 words. Any of you remember when it took hours to write 500 words? I remember having to write a 500 word essay on “A Tale of Two Cities” as part of our summer AP English assignment. I remember counting each and every one of those words (yes, this was back in the day before spell check and word count in word processors — PFS Write for an Apple IIC if you must know) and rejoicing when I hit the 500 word point. It took me days to get get there. OK, well over 600 words now. And I banged this out in what? Fifteen minutes?