I’ve been having lots of strange dreams lately. Amazing what you can remember from the night when you don’t go to sleep drugged up on xanax and ambien. One of my reoccurring dreams, thoughts, panic situations over the past few years has been running into various family members. I plan ahead what I would do and how I would react.
With my biological father, I feel a sense of wanting to impress him with my accomplishments. To show him that I have a wonderful family. To show him his beautiful granddaughter that he has never, and will never, have contact with. To point out to him what he has missed and will missed due to his actions. There is not a sense of fear, so much as uncertainty.
With Toilet, the nightmares follow a similar pattern - I run into him somewhere and my mother is with him. Sometimes there are people with me. Sometimes my daughter is present. When my daughter is present, I’m not concerned for her. I know I will protect her, no matter what it takes. I am concerned about the reactions of others if they are with me. What they will learn. What they will think. I’m concerned about my reactions.
I tried to think about the underlying emotions and feelings about any such encounter. There has to be something there – otherwise why would this keep running through my head? I think it comes down to fear. That four letter “f” word that consumes my life sometimes.
Fear that he will reveal “our” secret. Nobody in my real life knows. I would tell others not to be ashamed of what happened in a heart beat, but I have trouble believing it for myself. I worry that my people will think I can not be professionally objective given my background if it comes out.
Fear others will believe his lies.
Fear because he has this uncanny ability and power to see inside and manipulate me. When he first moved in with us, I rebelled. On the other hand, he was fun. He was less “rules oriented” than mom and advocated for Sister and I to “get away with” more. He’s the one that talked her out of punishing us. But then he’d turn around and make us do stupid things – like hand wash all the dishes so we would learn how to do them, even though we had a perfectly good dishwasher. He’d walk in, pretend to find one spot on the, and make us re-wash every single pot and pan. It was like a military inspection. We’d be in there for hours. My mom sat back and did nothing.
He had the ability to manipulate mom and others. Everyone saw him as this wonderful person. He convinced mom to undergo this entire personality change. (not that she resisted). He manipulated me too – into not seeing that things were supposed to be different. That what was happening was wrong and evil and not “normal.”
He was in control. My mom may have appeared to rule the roost. But it was really him.
Fear of it happening again but more so my letting it, responding – making his words come true and “fulfilling a prophecy”
Fear my mom hearing those words (or others) and believing them – making them come true.
“Those words” – the specifics I have difficulty saying. But the words that made me a co-equal. An accomplice. A willing participant. That made mom see me as the “other woman.” That made what happened a choice on my part. Made it a conscious decision on my part. Made me the initiator. Made me responsive and the worst words “you wanted it and you liked it. I didn’t hear you complaining.”
I fear him saying those words again. Where others can hear them. And seeing the look on people’s faces as the believe him. Seeing my mom choose him again.
I fear it happening again and my turning into that 11 year old child again. Not doing anything. Dissociating, flying away. And doing nothing. Letting it happen…again.