Nightmares

For as long as I can remember, I have had the most vivid dreams. Sometimes this is awesome. Once I had a dream that I was a pro skateboarder. I could do amazing tricks and flips. And once I had a dream that my parents were living on a fishing boat in the Mediterranean. The water was crystal clear and they were so happy. As amazing as those vivid dreams can be, vivid nightmares aren’t so great.

When I was really little, I knew my mind was making stories while I slept. I had to be really careful what I watched on TV, because the images would get mixed up in my brain and sometimes wake me in terror. I remember the first night of the mini series, Roots. I fell asleep and found myself in the hold of the ship with whips and chains and woke up, tears streaming down my face. I ran out of my bedroom toward the den where mom was watching Johnny Carson in the firelight. She let me settle on the couch and we agreed that I wouldn’t watch anymore Roots. But real life stuff would get into my brain too. Like a spark from the fireplace would pop out onto the hearth and I’d wake up shaking in terror from the house engulfed. I would see a mouse in the garden and wake up because rats were crawling all over my body.

So if nightmares were a problem for me when I had a happy, mostly idealized childhood, image what a dozen traumatic events have done to my nighttime brain. Last night I had a dream that I was driving a moving truck through a tunnel, then it was spinning out of control and then I landed with the top of the truck wedged into the roof of the tunnel. The truck burst into flames and I fell to the highway below. I was hurt, bleeding, burnt, but I needed to get to Target because my dad was meeting me there. It’s not the worst dream I ever had, but it still woke me up with a gasping sense of urgency and it took me a minute to realize that I was safe. After those dreams, there is no going back to sleep.

The funny thing about my adult nightmares is that they often come when my daytime life is fairly calm. Take now, I am happy at work. I love the women I work with; the administrative team is among the strongest I have ever experienced, and the kids are great. My son isn’t what I would call stable, but he isn’t lost or living in his car in the mountains either. I am enjoying my graphics arts class, and the most dramatic thing I am watching on TV is Thursday Night Football. I think the dreams get worse at times like this, because I don’t trust times of peace.

My little cat, Lucy, has become the nightmare whisperer. She must sense something wrong because she crawls to me and climbs right up onto my chest and settles inches from my face. She falls asleep before I do, but as her purrs die out, my heartbeat slows.

I would love to not have another nightmare as long as I live, but I would never want to give up my ability to remember my dreams. My dad visits me, and I get to ride horses and make friends with lions and walk on the beach. I really do try to have healthy sleep habits and think positive things before I close my eyes, but I don’t know if my nightmares will ever really completely go away. I guess it’s my brain reminding me that I still have shit to work through. And maybe I always will. The best thing I know to do is to get up and see what needs to be done. I don’t try to remember all the details of the bad dream and live in it, but I don’t try to shove it away either. I am learning how to recognize my fears and pain and not treat fear and pain as enemies. Instead I am learning how they can be allies for growth and strength. It’s not easy, but maybe that’s the only way to sweet dreams?