Nightmares
They're hideous - how do I even begin to describe them? They almost always involve someone being "mean" to me or about the place I used to work - a veterinary hospital. Scenes of dead animals suddenly coming back to life and writhing around. . . not wanting to be there, but knowing I have to be there because I have to earn a living to keep a roof over my and my son's head, I have to pay the mortgage, utilities, buy food, buy my son clothes - all of it. Its not a choice, so I continue to go to work. That is the feeling in my dream. Thank God those days are over forever.
Well, I haven't worked for the last 14 years, yet these nightmares continue to pursue me. Not as often as they did before I started taking Xanax every night before bed. Thank goodness - it was happening every single solitary night. Now its only about once a week. But that's bad enough. .
Someone is pursuing me, and no matter how many fences I climb, how many turns I make, etc., they always find me. And they are always faster than I can run. Sometimes they shoot at me with guns. Other times a plane is droning overhead, dropping bombs. What do these dreams mean? I'm always trying to lock doors to keep the "bad guys" out, but the locks never work, or else the bad guy just breaks the lock. I suppose I'm not assertive enough in waking life (well, I know I'm not) and perhaps these dreams are just reminding me that I'm allowing myself to be a victim. I am always the "nice guy" and tend to allow people to take me for granted, take advantage of my good nature. I'm a nurturer. I guess that explains why I love animals so, and my houseplants, and my grandkids.
I was over protected as a child - sheltered from the big, bad world. Only praised and loved - told how special I was - how smart. So when I was suddenly thrust into the real world, what a rude awakening that was! Most other people were not like my parents in any way. They were cold, hard, critical and uncaring. They were out soley for themselves, and everyone else be damned. If you loaned someone money in good faith, you'd better not count on ever seeing it again. I learned fast. Too fast. And people I blindly trusted walked all over me.
Anyway, I am able to wake myself up (usually) from these bad dreams, although when it doesn't work, I'm trapped in a hell of my own imaginings. If I'd known working as a veterinary technician would do this to me I'd never have looked into that field. As it was, the nightmares only started a couple of years after I stopped working. That was fourteen years from when I started that profession. The psychiatrist I saw once said "You've been through a lot." I hadn't even told him all of it. Just about working for a vet and the early deaths of my parents. I didn't even tell him about my three unhappy marriages, and the physical abuse from the first one. So I guess I'm fated to take Xanax for the rest of my life to ward off the demons that stalk me in the night. They say that what doesn't kill you will make you stronger. Suffering builds character.
I think too much, I'm constantly analyzing everything. I'm creative. I love to write poetry and fiction. I guess I'm quirky. But then, aren't most artists "off" in some way? Why are so many of us haunted though? Why does panic creep up behind us and bite into us when we least expect it? I have a long way to go yet, even though I've already lived 51 years. I have a lot I have to learn to accept and take in stride. I have to try to be like those people I envy, who just go with the flow and take whatever comes their way with grace.
Well, I haven't worked for the last 14 years, yet these nightmares continue to pursue me. Not as often as they did before I started taking Xanax every night before bed. Thank goodness - it was happening every single solitary night. Now its only about once a week. But that's bad enough. .
Someone is pursuing me, and no matter how many fences I climb, how many turns I make, etc., they always find me. And they are always faster than I can run. Sometimes they shoot at me with guns. Other times a plane is droning overhead, dropping bombs. What do these dreams mean? I'm always trying to lock doors to keep the "bad guys" out, but the locks never work, or else the bad guy just breaks the lock. I suppose I'm not assertive enough in waking life (well, I know I'm not) and perhaps these dreams are just reminding me that I'm allowing myself to be a victim. I am always the "nice guy" and tend to allow people to take me for granted, take advantage of my good nature. I'm a nurturer. I guess that explains why I love animals so, and my houseplants, and my grandkids.
I was over protected as a child - sheltered from the big, bad world. Only praised and loved - told how special I was - how smart. So when I was suddenly thrust into the real world, what a rude awakening that was! Most other people were not like my parents in any way. They were cold, hard, critical and uncaring. They were out soley for themselves, and everyone else be damned. If you loaned someone money in good faith, you'd better not count on ever seeing it again. I learned fast. Too fast. And people I blindly trusted walked all over me.
Anyway, I am able to wake myself up (usually) from these bad dreams, although when it doesn't work, I'm trapped in a hell of my own imaginings. If I'd known working as a veterinary technician would do this to me I'd never have looked into that field. As it was, the nightmares only started a couple of years after I stopped working. That was fourteen years from when I started that profession. The psychiatrist I saw once said "You've been through a lot." I hadn't even told him all of it. Just about working for a vet and the early deaths of my parents. I didn't even tell him about my three unhappy marriages, and the physical abuse from the first one. So I guess I'm fated to take Xanax for the rest of my life to ward off the demons that stalk me in the night. They say that what doesn't kill you will make you stronger. Suffering builds character.
I think too much, I'm constantly analyzing everything. I'm creative. I love to write poetry and fiction. I guess I'm quirky. But then, aren't most artists "off" in some way? Why are so many of us haunted though? Why does panic creep up behind us and bite into us when we least expect it? I have a long way to go yet, even though I've already lived 51 years. I have a lot I have to learn to accept and take in stride. I have to try to be like those people I envy, who just go with the flow and take whatever comes their way with grace.
posted by seaecho @ 2:00 PM
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