was waiting for me last night. Oddly I am calm right now, no grounding necessary, which normally follows nightmares. I am not shaky, I do not have hyper vigilance or even dissociation.
It should be shock, why isn’t it shock? I feel as if my insides have been ripped out. Raw in a way, but without the horror. Am I grieving? Is this grief? I am not sure I know.
To keep myself safe, to be sure I do not not over share, I have sort of a rule, to tell only my T and a friend about my nightmares. And if I write them down, I only ever write about them in my journal.
I considered writing in my journal this morning, however circumstances today mean that is a scary process I just cannot risk right now. I have to remain together, without being specific, I have responsibility today and feel a vulnerability that cannot be avoided. My journal is not an option right now.
So, today, I break my rule, I cannot keep this to myself.
I have experienced trauma dreams for years, these decreased about 6months ago, to increase again when we moved house. I have had a lot of dreams lately, about the past, but different to the trauma dreams. They are often about me and him now, not as a teen. They are scary, but in a different way.
Last night, I had a very detailed and (what felt like) lengthy dream. I was me, now, at 31. I was forced to return to his flat, except he wasn’t there, he didn’t (and doesn’t) live there anymore. The building was disused, falling to ruin. Despite my anxiety and a sense of dread, I was compelled to be there, I did not have a choice. My limbs were heavy, I had little control, as if I was a puppet or a doll. Even though I was fighting against it, I was still moving forward, climbing the seemingly everlasting stairs.
Everything was dark, daylight, but dark. I could almost taste the damp surrounding me. The walls were lined with faded graffiti, the “artists” long gone. I felt increasingly constricted with every step I made, as if the stair well was gradually closing in on me, like a giant hand, slowly curling into a fist around me. It must have been cold, because I could see my breath in front of me, yet I could not feel it. I could not feel anything at this point it seemed.
And after walking miles, it seemed, I finally reached his floor, the door on the right, the faded pink hiding such horrors within. I felt relieved, to escape that stair well, I did not fight as I was propelled forward towards that door.
Then the door was open and it looked so different from reality, the living room in front of me with murky green carpet and depressing yellow walls. It was empty when I entered, but I found myself on a couch. I was seated, staring around, talking to myself. I knew I had been there before, but I couldn’t put my finger on it, something was missing, someone belonged here and they seemed to be long gone. It was eerie sitting there looking around.
At some point things seemed to change, as if the flat was waking from a long slumber. Panic rose in my throat as I was suddenly pushed to face a door. The door I seemed to know led to a bedroom, an aging white painted door, already open, beckoning me to enter.
And though I made it to the entrance, I was unable to go in, because somewhere from inside, something began to scream. A scream so powerful it blocked the way through. Then the walls were like screens, showing projections of the horror that room had seen.
I was trapped on the spot, forced to watch what was unfolding before me. With the scenes of the past flashing before me and the screams of terror passed. I could see it as if it were happening, terror and pain. The screams continued, louder and as if from multiple entities. Strangely, they were like solid objects aiming for me, as they reached me they did not stop, instead they went right through. They seemed to bounce off the opposing wall, before ricocheting back towards me to have another turn.
And somewhere in the chaos, I could not help but remember. I was forced to accept that the horror playing out before me, didn’t happen to a stranger. The girl in those pictures was within me, the woman standing in that room.
It felt as if the room had been sleeping, waiting for me to return. That room remembered me just as I remembered it.
There as a little more, I won’t bore you with.. but WOW, what a dream. I am exhausted now, hurting lots and way to aware of what was. As I said, it isn’t trauma. It is something though- pain I think, I am not sure. I don’t have time for this, I have too much responsibility today, why did it have to be last night? Why do things always have to happen when circumstances mean things are already difficult?