I’ve been having strange struggles with sleep lately. I’ve been waking up in the middle of the night…several times in a night.
I don’t know why. I know many things could be the culprit, but I don’t know which one or to what extent each one affects it, so I hesitate to say what it is with any certainty (why yes, I am in the scholarly writing mindset, hedging my statements. Plus I am afraid of accidentally lying.)
Oh yes. The nightmares. Or bad dreams. They’ve been strange. Yesterday after I came home from work, I collapsed on the bed with my husband and three cats. It’s been taking longer than usual to fall asleep (like, 10 min instead of 2 min), but I did. I woke up twice during the nap, too.
I dreamed that I somehow got a chance to hug some of my siblings. The dream was so jumbled I don’t know where to begin to parse it. But. The little ones were older, the age they are now, and not the age when I last saw them. I tried to steer clear of dad, because I knew he would rage. I tried to see the little ones without him knowing, because I knew he would take out his anger on them. The little ones were in the basement of this strange house, so I managed to go down there without dad realizing. I got to hug Betsy. We missed each other so much. I went to hug Tommy. The other ones were there, too but then I woke up.
Which begs the question. When I hug them in a dream, do they also get a dream that I’m hugging them? I would love for such metaphysical idea to be true. A message communicated by angels. You may scoff (and I won’t blame you) but sometimes belief in transcendent things is all we have to hope on. And such hope is enough to keep going in life, keep trying, keep plugging away.
Other dreams have been dad raging at me. Multiple fires across a complex and nobody knows where the fire extinguisher is, so I have to put them all out with water and cups and then I run out of water and have to let the rest keep burning. Tornadoes. First a vortex in the distance. Then they multiply, several thin spidery funnels twisting and turning and descending near me, and I know there’s no escape, no safe place to take shelter, not even a ditch, so I just stand there and watch until I wake up. And those are just the ones I remember at the moment.
I remember some of these dreams because I woke up during them. Other dreams were too wispy to stick around for long in my mind.
It could be these bad dreams are what’s causing me to keep drifting awake. Or maybe it’s hormones. Or allergies. I honestly don’t know, though it might be obvious to others.
On the bright side, at least the dreams aren’t that vivid anymore. At least I don’t dream about dad’s rages every single night anymore. Yes. every single f*cking night. While I was growing up. And then I’d wake up and face the rages and the fear during the day. That sucked.
After I moved out on my 21st birthday the dreams intensified for a few months before slowly fading down to a weekly or couple-times-a-month basis. I was okay-ish with that. And now, they’re increasing again. Triggers? Maybe. Something I’m going to talk with my therapist about, for sure.
Meanwhile, a fellow blogger suggested yoga, which I am going to try. Do it for a few minutes, center myself, and prepare mentally for bed.
Filed under: Abuse