posted on May, 1 2004 @ 01:06 PM
Well, now that I’ve been around a bit, I think I do have a few questions, but I’m going to have to have separate threads for all of this mess…
This has to do with my childhood, and I’ll try not to make it garbled. (I don’t remember much past being 8 years old—much of my first years, I can’t
remember, except little snippets that often make no sense.):
When I was young, not long after my sister died (I was about 2-3), (maybe even before) I started getting these nightmares—night terrors. Night
terrors are where the person wakes up, sometimes not moving, but staring fearfully into space; more often, they can do everything but talk. Sometimes
they wet the bed. I believe I was fine, but couldn’t talk and would go sleep with my parents—if I slept. (Imagine your baby girl, scared out of her
mind, walking into the room, eyes wide open with terror, who stares at you for a minute or two, then shakes you to wake one of you up, can’t tell you
what’s going on, shaking, not responding to anything you say, has a hard time hearing you. She falls back asleep after she calms down, probably not
remembering it in the morning.) There were two dreams that this would happen with.
One was where I’d dream that my parents were having an argument, and I couldn’t take it, so I’d leave the house to go play in the front yard. There’s
field full of random wildflowers that stretches on into infinity, and I started picking them for my mom. I got pretty far away from the house, and
then my dad would storm out of the house and disappear out of my view. I hear a rumbling noise, look back over my shoulder, and my dad is pushing
this big boulder towards the house, which, btw is on the edge of a sinkhole. I stare, shocked, for a moment, then I drop the flowers, start running
towards the house, I believe I’m screaming, “NO! Daddy, Mamma’s in there! You’ll kill her.” I, of course, don’t get there in time, and this giant
ball of dirt pops the house, rolls over it, splintering the wood. My dad brushes his hands off, as people tend to when they’ve satisfactorily
finished a job. I slowly stop running to him, out of breath, so I close my eyes to weep. Only to wake up and wind up in my parent’s bed with fear
that I can’t even get from having an evil presence choking me, like it did at a friend’s house (completely different story). The house was a yellow
bungalow—bigger on the inside than outside; there was nothing but this field, slowly rolling to the edge of the sinkhole—where the house was. At the
point where I cried, I believe that my dad disappeared and I was alone, crying…I don’t remember what I’d do upon waking, but that I’d block
everything—like there was something in the room trying to get at me—I used to sleep in a fetal position, so I rarely was asleep on my back. I don’t
have to see or feel anything I don’t want to fear.
I believe I know why I saw the house smaller from the outside than from the inside—when I was little, I had a tendency to see places and memories that
were rightfully mine form the perspective of the adult that was nearby. The home we had, I never played outside, in the front, but from my parent’s
perspective, the house was tiny, but the inside was mine—I could stand on top of the fridge and jump to my father arms; it was all the room I needed.
My parents didn’t start having bad arguments in front of us until a couple years back—but they were just that, two stubborn-as-hell people
arguing—they love each other… The dream was designed to take everyone I loved from me, just as my sister had been. Now, as to why I’d dream about
NO WATER, when I live in South Louisiana—“Swampland, USA.”
The other was a waking dream, where I’d wake up, for no reason, and my senses would be messed up. I can’t describe it accurately, but I’ll try. I’d
feel two-dimensional, in a three dimensional world—quite literally, I was flat, so I’d reach out, to touch the air. Has anyone ever been in a pool of
warm water? Have you ever touched the surface water? It feels like you are touching soft old wrinkly wet skin. It feels something like this, like
I’m touching a watery barrier that is dry, being two-dimensional. As soon as it dawns on me that I’m doing it again, I start tingling from
head-to-toe and would run into my parent’s room, upset out of my mind.
The only reason I remember these two “dreams” is because I got sick one day with a fairly bad fever—just overnight, left me weak as all hell. I had
intentionally started blocking my drams at that time—at about the age of 10—still had dreams, but not like this. I was too weak to block it, anymore,
so I had the nightmare, was older child, disturbed by it but knew it wasn’t the truth (something I couldn’t distinguish immediately as a bitty child),
so I went to wake up my parents, and felt the two-dimensional thing walking down the hall to their room. Pretty scared by the time I got there, but I
woke them up and talked to them—the first time I ever talked.