Letting The Cat Out Of The Bag (aka Naked Dreams)

I had an evening out with my two best girlfriends from law school last night and it was a blast!  The three of us don’t get together nearly enough. I took the chance to reveal my decision to move forward with weight loss surgery to my one friend (the other I had already shared the news with).  She knows quite a lot about my background and breakdown and is one of the few people I really trust in my life. 

She’s European, thin, dark hair and eyes, olive complexion, beautiful. I have never once felt judged by her, but I was really nervous and just not sure what to expect.  Other than not being totally sure what weight loss surgery was, she was as amazingly supportive as she always is.  What a relief!

I think I was really worried about the possibility of rejection.  One of the scariest parts for me right now about the thought of surgery is wondering who is going to help take care of me afterwards.  If it’s not my friends, I’ve got no one to fill that role for me.

I don’t even want to tell my parents about it, honestly.  That’s not because of a fear of a negative reaction or anything, but because I just don’t trust them with this decision.  This is a very personal journey for me and I don’t trust them enough to be emotionally supportive (in a healthy way) through the process. After all, their abuse and dysfunction is a huge contributing factor in why I started turning to food for comfort in the first place. 

When I was maybe 7 or 8, my mother put a tupperwear bowl next to my dinner plate and screamed at me, threatening to make me eat my own vomit when I said I was too full to eat anything else.  After I started gaining weight around 10, my mother put a lock on the fridge to keep me from eating when one of my parents wasn’t home.  My mother would grab and touch my butt constantly after I started maturing, because she liked my butt and wished she had one of her own (no matter what weight that woman is at, she has a board flat ass).

Needless to say, my confusing and distorted relationship with food and my body started very early.  I’m trying to fix that and feel that they will be more of a hindrance than a help.  So, while I might tell my parents at the point that the surgery is actually scheduled (there is a small risk of death, they should probably know eventually), I’m keeping this decision to myself for now.

Plus, telling my friend left me feeling plenty vulnerable as it is.  So much so that I had my first naked dream where I wasn’t the only one concerned about my nudity.  Naked dreams usually mean youre feeling exposed, but normally no one else knows in my dreams.  It’s my own internal fear of exposure that has driven those dreams in the past.  Not this time.  Everyone else eventually saw it too and it was a disaster.

I was at a baseball stadium, watching a game with a couple of my friends.  It was almost like those two people were all my friends all at once, though.  I was naked and fine being with them.  There was this big blimp drone thing (that was also a huge fan) that was entertaining and added complexity to the game as it flew around the stadium.  On one exciting play, the fan blimp blew a ball into the stands right to me. Not even thinking, I stood up and caught it.  I immediately sat down and tried to cover up, but it was too late. Everyone saw me naked. People gasped, laughed, and started calling me disgusting. One woman got on the loud speaker and lectured me about how I should do some bullshit to lose weight.  Another threw pies in my face.  It was awful.  I woke up and cried. 

I can only imagine the dreams I’ll have after telling my parents.  Ugh.  I hope I’m doing the right thing.  I know all I have scheduled is attending a seminar right now, but I intend to go through with surgery.  I hope I’m prepared emotionally to deal with this.  It seems like that’s one of the hardest parts for people who have blogged about their experience.  Who am I to think that I’ll be any different?  What if I fail and gain the weight back?  What if I tail spin into another breakdown?  But what if it’s the best thing I ever do for my health and happiness? So confused.

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The Experiment

I stand before a tall building,  it’s glass edifice reflecting the turquoise blue of the darkness.  I know intuitively that she will be here.  She promised she would be.

The hairs on my neck prickle. This is a place of untold horrors.

When I cross the threshold into the cavernous lobby, the chill startles me. She is there just as I expected, sitting plainly on a stone bench to my right. Her skin is pale, hair messy, and her make up dark and smeared across her beautiful face.

She comes to my side as I walk further into the building.  The undead shuffle absentmindedly in the darkness.  They don’t notice me. When I look at my friend, I see that she is one of them herself and is ready to attack.

I can’t help but scream, alerting the others, who change course and quicken their pace toward me. I run into the blackness ahead of me, desperate to avoid them.

My scream sent others like me scrambling from their hiding spots, and they join me in my sprint.

I run up the stairs in front of me,  the crowd pushing me along. As I reach what seems to be the next floor, the breathless sound of terror rolls through the group as we encounter a wall of large gray creatures. Faced with an impossible decision, I make none at all.

Suddenly I am laying in a small bed. My head is pounding.  They tell me to take it slow, to take it easy, but I am in a rage because no one told me I was their experiment.  My nightmares were the product of a chemically induced REM sleep. 

I pull the covers aside and stumble out of the small bed they’ve put me in. My head feels strange, like it’s stuffed too full with cotton. They tell me that I need to relax,  but I can’t.  Suddenly, everything fades away and I collapse.

I hear their urgent whispers with him before my eyes can open again. He is scared for me, I can feel it. This makes me worry more. The conversation is something about scans and tests, all laced with anxiety. I cannot focus on anything and soon pass out.

When I wake I am desperate for his arms to be around me. He is there and cradles me, instantly making me feel safe and protected. The rise and fall of his strong chest lulls me to sleep once more. 

The blaring beep of my answering machine shocks me out of my slumber and he is gone, leaving no trace. I reach the blinking light to hear the message left. “I’m sorry to say, but the latest scans showed a large mass in her temporal lobe. She won’t last long.”

Evil Priest

10/19/2013

I’m possessed by an evil spirit that links me to a priest, known for his malevolence.  I am physically unable to cross the threshold of what I believe to be a church,  because the demon is so strong within me.

The priest tells me I’m ready and a ghostly spirit of a piglet transports me to a hospital.  We travel down an aisle between hundreds of beds full of dying people.  As I approach one on the left, I recognize it’s occupant.

My mom.

She is struggling with the orderlies trying to subdue her. It is clear I can’t be seen by anyone around,  but this vision is truth, I am assured of that.

Suddenly my mom lurches and is still. She has died. Her heart, weak from constant self abuse, and hardened from years of consternation,  meanness and manipulation has exploded in her chest.

It is over. All the abuse is finally over.  I should be sad at her passing, and in a way I am, but I am also relieved.  Relieved that I have peace of mind.  Peace of soul.

I Don’t Belong Here

1/20/2003

I don’t belong here.

I am standing in the lobby of some austere corporate edifice, and there is a pretty girl next to me; she loves me, but my attention is drawn to the woman walking into the lobby; Laura Green, a champion of obsolete technology. Today, she will broadcast a radio show with antiquated equipment, and play vinyl records on an old turntable. She is broadcasting from the park outside this building, where the corporate herds eat hasty lunches and strain to hear their cell phones.

I go to help Laura, my unknown lady friend annoyed and jealous; this amuses me, because I know that no one is jealous of me. As I help Laura set up the antiquated equipment, we hear it, borne on a wind that was not there a second ago. A siren, low and urgent, at whose keen we all turn our heads, even the cell-phone drones. A girl screams, a second before we see the cloud; small, white, and, in any other context, harmless. I know this is what I have dreaded all my life, yet I have no idea what it is.

The cloud hovers, oblivious to our fear. As the siren winds down, I hear a voice, as if in my head, confirming my dread: There is no cure, evacuate immediately, there is no cure. Laura and the girl are gone, and cell phones are crashing to the ground; I am alone, and the cloud is growing. I look back at the building, and people are boiling out; executives, secretaries, tourists in mismatched clothes. They are all running away, over rails, climbing stairs that I hadn’t known were there. I start running for the stairs, jumping benches on the way, when I stumble to the ground. Ahead of me, the girl is still screaming, and I know what is behind me…

I awake on the plane with a start, my head whipping back and forth as it takes a few seconds to realize I was dreaming. My breath returns, and I am surprised to be alive. My disorientation alarms the woman next to me; she is elderly, and smells of licorice. She asks if I’m well. I murmur something vague, and get up to use the restroom. In the restroom, I splash water on my face, and as I reach for a paper towel, I notice the wall panel is out of place behind the toilet. I reach down, out of curiosity, and the panel falls away at my touch. Behind the wall is a space just large enough for a man to crawl into, and it extends downward. I crawl into the space and follow it downwards. I only go about 12 feet or so when the space opens up and I land on a half-filled luggage rack. I am in the baggage compartment, and I can see ahead a canvas partition, in which a long slit has been cut.

I walk over to the partition, and peek through the slit. I see a man crouched behind some boxes, he has his head turned away from me, but he will turn it this way soon. I back away from the slit and look for something to hide behind. Before I can go a step he is through the slit and pulls a gun on me. I laugh at him, because I know he will not harm me. I trust him, and although I have never met him before, I know him for a close friend. I smile and ask why he has the gun, since we know he will not shoot. He points the gun to my belly, and his eyes lock onto mine. He has no pupils, and I can sense eternity in the blackness of his eyes as he fires the gun. I never feel the bullet, and the world closes in on itself, shrinking to a pinprick of white light, like when you would turn off an old television set. I know I am dreaming, and that now I am dead, because I know that if you die in your dream…

 

An Interesting Find

Found a random journal entry a few pages into one of my college notebooks.

                                                                              7/27/03

Why do my bad dreams come true?

The rest of the notebook is blank after that. I’ve got other journals from the last 4-5 years and they usually only abruptly stop like that when something bad was going on. Something I couldn’t even write about to myself. Usually something involving her.

What made me write that? What bad dream came true this time?

Possession

Another dream from the travel journal.

10/19/13

I’m possessed by an evil spirit that links me to a priest, known for malevolence.  I am physically unable to cross the threshold of what I believe is a church, because the demon is so strong within me.  The priest tells me I’m ready or something like that and then a ghostly spirit of a piglet transports me to a hospital.

We travel down an aisle between hundreds of beds full of dying people.  As I approach one on the left, I recognize it’s occupant.

Her.  She is struggling with the orderlies trying to subdue her.  It is clear I can’t be seen by anyone around, but this vision is truth.  I am assured of that.  Suddenly, she lurches and is still.  She has died.  Her heart, weak from constant self abuse, and hardened from years of consternation, meanness, manipulation, and the like, has exploded in her chest.

It is over.  I should be sad at her passing, and in a way I am, but I am also relieved.  Relieved that I have peace of mind.  Peace of soul.

The Craziest Dream

From one of my travel journals.

10/8/13

Had the craziest dream last night.

It was the same beach I’ve seen in many dreams before. Black sand, damp and hard packed as far as the eyes can see. My heart is pounding and I am running. The ocean to my right is tempestuous, fighting to reclaim the sands of the beach down to its dark depths.

New to this dream is a land mass in the distance. Hot air balloons rise from its surface, only to immediately crash down violently. People are desperately trying to escape the area, plagued by sudden anarchy and turmoil.

I am running along the beach and head up an embankment behind a woman. She is blonde and I notice how her petite feet and frame deftly scale the mound of sand. Her pristine white frock flows behind her as she navigates over the steep terrain.

Suddenly, she disappears. I am frightened and fear certain death. As I reach the spot she vanished, I discover an enormous chamber carved into the mountain.

Its features are man made and opulent. Marble columns lined the stone walls. In the center is a massive clear pool of fresh water circulating in and out from the ocean, the salt filtered out by the obsidian sand. The sides and the bottom of the pool are beautifully decorated in a mosaic of blues and purples.

Why is this place here? Why has this woman led me here? I comply with her instruction to enter the pool, allowing its crisp water to flow all around me. I cling to the edge of the pool. Suddenly, waves are violently crashing at the entrance to the cave.

Several particularly large swells come back to back, flooding the cave. My hold on the side of the pool is no match for the power of the incoming and receding onslaught of ocean water. I am repeatedly pulled under the surface, choking on the briny mixture.

I gasp for air and choke on water.

Poop Dreams

It’s weird, I know.  But it kind of makes sense when you think about it.

I have always been fascinated by what dreams might mean.  In college, I took a psychology class about dreams and part of the course included dream interpretation.  By the way, I was SO close to adding a minor in Psychology to my Math degree.  I seriously regret not doing that.  Maybe somewhere down the line I’ll pick that back up.  Either way, the class was awesome.

Vivid, recurring, dreams  are the most interesting for me because I’ve had so many of them over the years.  There were the large fighting robots and the drowning in chocolate when i was a kid.  Or the dreams about out of control elevators as an adult.  Thankfully, the elevator dreams largely subsided after I started recognize the dream for just a dream whenever I would step into a dream elevator.

Lately (within the last year), my dreams are full of shit.  Literally.  Oh yes, you heard me right, I dream about poop.

What the hell is wrong with me?

Okay, they’re not always poop dreams.  But the bathroom is a very regular setting for my dreams these days.  I always have the urge to go (sometimes one, sometimes both).  But when I get to the bathroom, something always keeps me from being able to either start or finish my business.

Sometimes, the stalls are all jacked up.  The stall walls might be far too short.  Doors may be missing.  Sometimes the stall is extraordinarily large or small. Multiple toilets or the smallest toilet known to man could be hiding behind the stall door.  It varies.  However, the feeling I get is always the same.  An intense exposure.  Vulnerability.  Fear.  It’s really distressing and the feeling is usually there when I wake up.  I don’t like them.

There is also the incredibly messy bathroom I so gently alluded to before.  Ha!  Gently my butt.  Anyway.  Sometimes, when I get into a stall, the toilet and/or stall are foul.  Thankfully I’ve never smelled anything in my dreams. Is that even possible?  Either way, these dreams leave me disgusted and horrified at the things my brain throws at me.  I’m a mess. And no wonder I’m still single.

There is also the extremely wet or flooding bathroom.  Not quite like the drowning in chocolate dream I had as a kid, but water everywhere..  Showers are usually featured in these dreams, but I’ve never taken a shower in one.  In these, the sound and the water bother me.

Not to be forgotten, there’s the dream where my body refuses to do the deed.  These are really odd.  I’m trying to poop, but I can’t do it, no matter what I try. Or the can’t poop, short stall syndrome, overly crowded bathroom dream.

I’ve had a lot of them.  Again.  What the HELL is wrong with me?!

Like most dreams, there is no beginning or end.  It is just the bathroom, the need to go, and the inability to do so.  Then waking up feeling the same things I was feeling in the dream.  Not fun.  I haven’t checked in a while, but www.DreamMoods.com described these dreams as having to do with needing to release something, I believe.  Ya think? Sure makes some sense to me.

Regardless of what the dreams are “supposed” to mean, though, I could rattle off a laundry list of reasons why the bathroom would be the prime place for my subconscious to reside.  Unfortunately, I can’t really go into them yet.  I’m just not strong enough.  Hopefully soon.