I'm tired...and trying not to complain. It's been a rough morning. And the reason I'm trying not to complain is because I feel it is 'comeuppance'. Like complaining would be hypocritical. I was up in the night last night with my daughter. She had nightmares. I want to be there for her, but it's hard when it's the middle of the night. But every time she wakes up with a nightmare, I think to myself...my mom did this, A LOT. I had chronic nightmares as a child. Much of the time, when I think back to my childhood sleep, I think about not getting very much.
I can remember SO many occasions, lying in my bed, frozen with fear. The nightmares varied. For a while it was sharks. I used to imagine that sharks would come into my bedroom and get me. It didn't help that one of my brother's and I's favorite game was to play shark. We'd sit on the bed and pretend it was a boat and we were falling off into an ocean of sharks, and the other had to save you before it was 'too late'. Fun in the daylight...terrifying at night, when rational thought is far away. I imagined that my blankets would protect me, so if I laid perfectly still and had my covers on, I would be fine. And I would call out to my mother. But not very loud. A faint whisper, because I didn't want whatever I was afraid of to hear me calling for help and then figure out where I was. I'm amazed that she heard me.
There was a while that I was afraid of fire. My house setting on fire. I would wake in the night terrified that I lived on the second floor and if there was a fire, there would be no way to get out. My parents had Family Home Evenings on fire safety and escape routes to calm my fears. We passed by a garage sale one day and my mom noticed a chain-link ladder that attached to a window ledge in case of fire, to help you escape. They bought it and put it under my bed. That calmed me for a while, until I realized that I didn't know how to use it.
I used to dream about being kidnapped, or attacked. My attacker never had a face. I just new it was a big strong man. Someone I could not defend myself against. I would run, but couldn't run. Scream but the sound wouldn't come out.
Most of the dreams that have kept me awake have been demonic though. I can't handle it. Those dreams have lasted into my adult life. I'm not afraid of sharks in my bedroom anymore. Or fires that I can't get away from. But other-worldly things still scare me. I'm a control freak, and maybe it's because it's something I don't fully understand and the loss of control that still freaks me out.
I can't watch scary movies...at all. I can't even watch the previews for scary movies. Even listening to music that has scary undertones, like Marilyn Manson scares me. I get queezy and shaky and nervous and this fear that's deep down in my spirit crawls up from my stomach and chokes me.
I have watched scary movies before. Mostly when I was in situations where I was too scared of the social repercussions to tell anyone that I was scared. I've gotten over that, and I have no problem telling people I don't watch those types of movies anymore. The loss of sleep is not worth it to me. And movies stick with me for a VERY long time. I remember seeing a scary movie at my friend's house when I was 15. It was terrifying. Everyone was scared, but the kind of scared where you scream at the scary parts and then laugh. I was paralyzed on the couch. A few weeks later she asked me if I wanted to come over and watch the sequel. We started it (still in that 'I want to be cool and popular phase'), and I went upstairs to the kitchen and looked at a magazine for 2 hours while everyone else watched the movie. I could still hear it though...and that was enough. I didn't sleep much for a few days.
Then, when I was 19 or 20, I went and saw another scary movie with my brother, my cousin, and my boyfriend (now husband). I watched the movie with my feet up on the seat, my jacket over my body (remember, being covered protects you) and my hands over my face. That night, I slept in my parent's bed, holding my mother's hand with the light on. My dad slept in my bed, and my boyfriend slept in the hallway outside the door, just in case. And when I say slept, I mean I laid in bed. I did that for 2 nights. Then I slept in my own bed, with the light on for weeks after that. My boyfriend or my dad would walk me to my bedroom door and say goodnight, and then I'd be alone with my mind. TO this day, there are still images from that movie that get me. Ther is a scene where cupboard doors are left open to indicate that the 'being' was or had been there. If I walk into my kitchen and my cupboard doors are open, it all comes back. So I close them almost obsessively.
The only reason I think things are better now is because there is someone sharing the bed with me, every night. Someone who has successfully beaten off an intruder in real life, so I feel confident he will protect me. But there are still nights where I sleep so close to him and grip his arm and pray the morning light will come quickly.
I'm not sure where this fear comes from. I know my dad doesn't like intense or scary movies. But my fear is so gripping. I can't walk down a hallway at night in the dark, even if I know my husband is standing at the other end. When I was younger, I would flush the toilet and RUN out of the room, turning the light off as I left. I could not turn the light off a second sooner...I don't know why. Toilet monsters I guess.
I remember my mom coming into my room and rubbing my back and distracting me from whatever I was scared of by having me imagine what my Disney Princess dress would look like if I were in a movie. It was always yellow. A few times she would walk away when she thought I was finally asleep only to discover that I wasn't and would have to come back. So eventually she would stay by my bed long into the night. I don't know how she did it. I"m the middle child, so she had younger kids to take care of too. Babies to deal with. But she was always there, and I don't remember her ever getting frustrated with me. Just rubbing my back and making it better.
So, when my daughter wakes me in the night, I think, I can be there for her. I can make it better. She doesn't have nightmares often. And a few months ago her dad bought her a dreamcatcher, which seemed to work for a while. She's had two nightmares this week, and quietly sobs "why isn't my dreamcatcher working anymore?" So last night we decided it must be full and we'll have to come up with a way to clean it out. We're going to take it outside and shake out all the bad dreams so it has room to catch the new ones. It's completely irrational, but so are bad dreams, so only irrational solutions seem to work. I don't think she has the same issues I do. At least for her sake, I hope not. But I will be there for her...and try not to be a demon myself the next day when I'm running on little sleep. It doesn't always work, but I'm trying.
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