exorcising the demons of sleep
Dec. 13th, 2004 08:58 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ciroccojThat really didn't need to happen. I just had a three-part nightmare, which I don't think has ever happened before. Those of you who suffer nightmares frequently: how the hell do you deal with this? Sleep is supposed to be refreshing and energizing. If I had this kind of thing to look forward to every night, I don't think I'd ever want to go to sleep again.
Worst first: my mom was still alive and doing well, though she knew she was going to die. We were out doing something together (shopping, I think) and it was very nice, except that I got very upset every time I realized this would probably be the last time we ever did this together. I didn't want to start crying, though, because she was having a hard enough time dealing with her own impending death; she definitely didn't need me to make her any more upset. Eventually I couldn't help it and broke down.
Soon after that, she started to get worse. She was at a hospice (not at home, which is where she actually died.) The hospice was like a cross between the hospital where she went after the last chemo treatment, the funeral home, and the cemetery. And as she went downhill, all sorts of horrific stuff started to happen that didn't actually happen in real life. She actually shrank, for one thing. And there were subcutaneous caterpillars, which freaked me out immensely, and the hospice staff had to cut something in her neck in order to clean a blood vessel, and there was a lot of blood. I woke up around the time that for some reason, I was still me, but could feel things from her POV and she was choking on blood. This was around 2:00am. Stayed awake for a long time after that.
In the next one, my father was there and we were keeping my mom company at the hospice. The dream may have started as we left the hospice to either go back to my house or to a hotel where he was staying while he visited her. Anyway, we went home, chatted for a while, eventually went to sleep, then went to visit her again the next day around 6pm. When we got there, we found her room empty, and we were told she'd died just a little while ago. I was devastated, because the 'first time' she died (ie, when she actually died) she was surrounded by me, Guy, my cousin Ingrid and my aunt Gilda. This time it seemed she'd died alone, 24 hours after we'd left her. Then a staff member looked up her chart and told us that she'd actually died the night before, about 5 minutes after we left. I was still upset that we weren't with her, but was somewhat comforted that she hadn't been alone for long. Woke up again (around 3:30, I think) and was even more relieved to realize that no, she only died once, with her loved ones surrounding her.
Went back to sleep and the last dream had something to do with homeschooling, of all things. I was telling somebody about how I was homeschooled between grades 5-6 (I wasn't, BTW) and I was remembering stuff about my mom in those years. Then someone from the hospice told me I had to go and clean out my locker, which was tough because there were all sorts of pictures and books that reminded me of my mother. And my father was there again, and I think I was getting somewhat snarky. I was upset at him because he didn't approve of me homeschooling Daniel part-time and thinking of homeschooling him full-time, and upset because he didn't know or care about how much my kids mean to me. Or the fact that I actually like them, want to be with them, and don't consider it a sacrifice to spend time with them. I think I said something like, "Well, I grew up with an absentee parent, thank you very much, and I don't want that for my kids."
Then I started to get even more upset that the parent I'd lost was the one who'd been with me throughout my childhood and into adulthood, who loved my kids almost as much as I did, and who would have been there to help me get over the death of a loved one. Intead I was left with my father, who lived on the same continent as me for all of 3-4 years, total, during my childhood, who stopped talking to me almost five years ago, who has never even met Justin, and who buggered off pretty quickly soon after my mother died.
That last bit isn't fair, BTW. Yes, he did bugger off, but I don't know if he would have if I had made an effort to stay in touch. But five years of almost absolute silence on his part kind of got me out of the habit. Besides, I had plenty of people around me to help me get through my mom's death – Chris, Guy,![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
ninja_kat, Karolyn, my mom's friends, etc. And for all I know, my father could've been very supportive too. After all, he did go to a lot of trouble to come visit my mom a week before her death, which meant a lot to her. And he tried everything he could to come to her funeral. So who knows.
In any case, in the dream, I wasn't being terribly charitable towards him. Then an alto from my choir pointed out something about a picture I was taking down, and I started crying again. Then I woke up.
So. It's early morning, Chris put the breadmaker on timer so a lovely smell of freshly baked bread is permeating the house, the boys will be up in a little bit, and I have no desire to go back to bed to dream up Part IV of this saga. Hopefully writing it out will exorcise it from my head, as I have a hell of a lot to do today.
I should probably bring it up with shrinky-dude tomorrow, but probably won't. I think I can work through most of the painfully blatant issues/symbolism of it on my own.
Worst first: my mom was still alive and doing well, though she knew she was going to die. We were out doing something together (shopping, I think) and it was very nice, except that I got very upset every time I realized this would probably be the last time we ever did this together. I didn't want to start crying, though, because she was having a hard enough time dealing with her own impending death; she definitely didn't need me to make her any more upset. Eventually I couldn't help it and broke down.
Soon after that, she started to get worse. She was at a hospice (not at home, which is where she actually died.) The hospice was like a cross between the hospital where she went after the last chemo treatment, the funeral home, and the cemetery. And as she went downhill, all sorts of horrific stuff started to happen that didn't actually happen in real life. She actually shrank, for one thing. And there were subcutaneous caterpillars, which freaked me out immensely, and the hospice staff had to cut something in her neck in order to clean a blood vessel, and there was a lot of blood. I woke up around the time that for some reason, I was still me, but could feel things from her POV and she was choking on blood. This was around 2:00am. Stayed awake for a long time after that.
In the next one, my father was there and we were keeping my mom company at the hospice. The dream may have started as we left the hospice to either go back to my house or to a hotel where he was staying while he visited her. Anyway, we went home, chatted for a while, eventually went to sleep, then went to visit her again the next day around 6pm. When we got there, we found her room empty, and we were told she'd died just a little while ago. I was devastated, because the 'first time' she died (ie, when she actually died) she was surrounded by me, Guy, my cousin Ingrid and my aunt Gilda. This time it seemed she'd died alone, 24 hours after we'd left her. Then a staff member looked up her chart and told us that she'd actually died the night before, about 5 minutes after we left. I was still upset that we weren't with her, but was somewhat comforted that she hadn't been alone for long. Woke up again (around 3:30, I think) and was even more relieved to realize that no, she only died once, with her loved ones surrounding her.
Went back to sleep and the last dream had something to do with homeschooling, of all things. I was telling somebody about how I was homeschooled between grades 5-6 (I wasn't, BTW) and I was remembering stuff about my mom in those years. Then someone from the hospice told me I had to go and clean out my locker, which was tough because there were all sorts of pictures and books that reminded me of my mother. And my father was there again, and I think I was getting somewhat snarky. I was upset at him because he didn't approve of me homeschooling Daniel part-time and thinking of homeschooling him full-time, and upset because he didn't know or care about how much my kids mean to me. Or the fact that I actually like them, want to be with them, and don't consider it a sacrifice to spend time with them. I think I said something like, "Well, I grew up with an absentee parent, thank you very much, and I don't want that for my kids."
Then I started to get even more upset that the parent I'd lost was the one who'd been with me throughout my childhood and into adulthood, who loved my kids almost as much as I did, and who would have been there to help me get over the death of a loved one. Intead I was left with my father, who lived on the same continent as me for all of 3-4 years, total, during my childhood, who stopped talking to me almost five years ago, who has never even met Justin, and who buggered off pretty quickly soon after my mother died.
That last bit isn't fair, BTW. Yes, he did bugger off, but I don't know if he would have if I had made an effort to stay in touch. But five years of almost absolute silence on his part kind of got me out of the habit. Besides, I had plenty of people around me to help me get through my mom's death – Chris, Guy,
ninja_kat, Karolyn, my mom's friends, etc. And for all I know, my father could've been very supportive too. After all, he did go to a lot of trouble to come visit my mom a week before her death, which meant a lot to her. And he tried everything he could to come to her funeral. So who knows.In any case, in the dream, I wasn't being terribly charitable towards him. Then an alto from my choir pointed out something about a picture I was taking down, and I started crying again. Then I woke up.
So. It's early morning, Chris put the breadmaker on timer so a lovely smell of freshly baked bread is permeating the house, the boys will be up in a little bit, and I have no desire to go back to bed to dream up Part IV of this saga. Hopefully writing it out will exorcise it from my head, as I have a hell of a lot to do today.
I should probably bring it up with shrinky-dude tomorrow, but probably won't. I think I can work through most of the painfully blatant issues/symbolism of it on my own.
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no subject
Date: 2004-12-13 08:02 am (UTC)Those sound pretty awful. I've had a series of nightmares before, but not as bad as those. Usually if I have one bad enough to wake me up, I'm awake for awhile afterwards, but then when I get back to sleep I dream more normally. The series of dreams usually happens when they're not quite bad enough to wake me up, if that makes sense.
*more hugs*