I realize it has been a while since I posted, so much for my daily post haha. Now that I have settled and my personal demons to a dull roar I can go back to posting, mostly today about the dream I just woke up from. I am just starting antibiotics yesterday, makes me wonder if that is what brought it on.
BTW big trigger warning.
I woke up at 1am this morning from a dream/memory, or should I say something I thought was a dream for a moment then realized it was partially a memory).
I found I was laying in my bedroom, under the blankets and crying. I couldn’t stop crying, and had that almost suffocating because I couldn’t catch my breath feeling. My hips hurt a lot and had some slight bruising just starting on my right side. The ache in them I thought at first was from being under the blankets curled into a ball, then realized a lot of came as well from the bruise. The two combined into just a gigantic ache that started around my butt and groin and radiated out to be the “achiest” on my hips.
Thinking back, I think the bedroom was from when I was 11 or 12, still had my old original Star Wars poster (this would have been around 1982/1983). The reason I remember this is that it was the last time I had my own bedroom as a child, within a year we would be moving into places where I had to share my bedroom with my little brother, and there is no way I would be laying under the blanket crying and making any sort of commotion when we shared a room.
In the dream, I remembered earlier that morning, after I had come home so late the night before I had refused to leave the bedroom, my dad had come by twice outside the door to ask me if I was ok if I needed anything. He would hesitate every time I said no. I was terrified he would notice my voice trembling so I just acted as if it was no big deal and I didn’t feel good.
I know this part was dream and not memory because my parents were never ones to stand on the outside of the door, they would have been in the room with me. If I am remembering right, the reality of that memory is that my parents and siblings were all out at a biker party. I vaguely remember them coming back late late late that evening/next morning, so it definitely had to be a dream dad knocking.
I tried to avoid those parties when I hit my early teens, having grown up and been there for all of them when I was younger, I wasn’t comfortable anymore with the drinking or the bikers all wanting to confess to me about what they did in Vietnam or even home after Vietnam. I especially didn’t want to console them anymore because I dreamt about what they told me. My father was really the only biker/Vietnam vet in the group who hadn’t done that with me.
I had gotten back from visiting Father Dave at the church rectory. Earlier that day we had a get-together for all the altar boys. Mostly to hand out the robes, and assign duties (I don’t even remember what the robes were called, this is 38 years ago or so). I do remember back to that meeting and it was mostly fighting about who got to carry which apparatus (candelabra, censure ball, reeds, etc).
As what had happened in real life, the dream had the meeting earlier in the day when one of the altar boys had met up with us with a stolen bottle of sacramental wine. So the four of us drank it and I had gone through the meeting, the practicing the words and rituals and the fighting over positions with a buzz.
I just remember laying in bed upset, not because I was sore on the entirety of my lower abdomen, or because of what happened after all the kids had left the rectory while I stayed and helped clean up, but that I felt embarrassed, dirty, and that I was going to hell. The sad part is the part that hurt the most was that he had lied to me and I realized they didn’t mean what they said.
The reality of this situation that this was the first time I “knew” (as a feeling) I was going to hell no matter what I did. That feeling has never left me after that day, even at the age of 50 and not having entered a catholic church since the age of 17 – 33 years ago, that thought still sits in the back of my mind, although the list of reasons has expanded exponentially, with this situation receding.
That is probably the thing I am most angry about now, I am still not even angry with Father Dave, the situation, or even the church for allowing it, I hate myself for it.
In the dream I just laid in there as the afternoon light in the window faded and evening came. All I could do is listen to the noises from the apartment parking lot outside as the bedroom got dark and just hate myself more. When it had been full dark outside I realized that my entire right side of my abdomen/hip was blackened by the bruise (the reality is just a few red marks, my dream evidently went haywire with that). The bruise had grown around my hip and across my groin and stomach. One of those nightmare rotting skin feelings.
At some point though, as I laid in the dark, it felt like things got better when I just all of a sudden I felt numb, that I had probably deserved it and I just needed to move on. From there I got up, turned the lights on in the apartment, and made myself dinner.
From the scattered bits of reality I remember, the dream is pretty close to what happened. except for the huge bruise rotting away at me, and my family being around that day. The big realization I had this morning waking up from it was that I think it was the first time I had fully disassociated and kept it like that for that long.
Before that it sometimes happened to a lesser extent, for a few hours to get through whatever was happening (violence, biker situation type thing), this time it lasted a couple of weeks, and came back easily, almost on command. It was the start of me not feeling like I wasn’t the real person, and this has kept up my whole life, although I am working on that now.
I started writing this when I initially woke up. I found halfway through I got exhausted and went back to bed and continued the dream. Now that I am back up though I don’t think I can finish writing about the dream this time, maybe next time I can.