Nightmares. A Projection of Feelings.

“I can’t believe she is gone. It’s as if it were yesterday that she was all healthy and full of hope for a new future with her daughter and son-in-law. And now she is gone. It’s not fair.” I looked at my aunt while she was sharing her sorrow with me. We both couldn’t believe that my mother was gone and that we were at her funeral today. I think if anyone shared the depth of my pain and sorrow, it was my mother's sister. She lost her little sister. They were only with two sisters among six brothers. They shared a special bond. Many people used to think they were twins when they were little, but my aunt was 1,5 years older. When everyone had said their goodbyes, it was time to say my last goodbye to my mother and to see her for the very last time. We carried the casket to where my mother’s body would be cremated. Then suddenly, my mother opened her eyes and looked straight at me.

I think my heart stopped beating for a second when I looked her in the eyes. “Mom, what… I don’t understand… You’re alive?” My heart started racing. I thought that I was either going to faint or throw up. Or probably both. I couldn’t think straight. What was I supposed to do? How can this be happening? “My sweetheart, it’s ok. I’m sick, I won’t stay alive for a long time. Just go ahead and continue my cremation. I’m ready.” I looked at my mother, and I couldn’t believe what I heard.

Is anyone else hearing this? Why is nobody reacting? “No! Of course not. I am stopping this. This is not normal. This is your… We thought that you were… I thought that I had lost you forever, Mom. I’m glad you’re…”, my mother interrupted me by saying, “No sweetie, we can’t stop this. This is what God has planned for me. It’s my time to go. It’s inevitable. No one has to know. I won’t feel a thing. I am leaving now. Stay strong, stay happy, always be yourself. Mamaa will always love you. You’ll never be alone.” And with those words, she looked at me one last time and smiled while her casket was pushed into the furnace. She closed her eyes, and her body started burning. All I could see was fire and her body turning black. I couldn’t believe that I had let this happen. I burned my mother alive. I killed her. I deserve to die.

And with that thought, I woke up crying, and my chest started hurting.

All I saw around me was darkness. I realized that it was the emptiness that I felt inside of me. It was a reflection of the black stain on my heart because of what I did. I let my mother die. There is nothing that I did to save her, I just stood and watched it all happen. I don’t deserve to live, I deserve to die. And with that feeling, I fell back into a deep sleep, and the torture started again.

From a very young age, I have had nightmares regularly. I don’t think I can remember when I didn’t have nightmares. They are always so vivid. Many people believed that this happened because I wasn’t shielded from horror movies when I was little. Whenever my cousins would watch a horror movie, I would watch it with them, or I would be in the same room as them. But people didn’t know that I lived through horror when I witnessed my mother’s abuse. Even when I was too young to understand what was going on, it certainly did significantly impact me. Maybe it was a combination of both? I guess I’ll never really know.

I would wake up in the middle of the night because my nightmares were intense. It started with my mother dying because my father killed her. Which obviously was my biggest fear when I was little. Or sometimes, it could be about death in general or someone or something that would want to hurt my mother or me. But all of it was based on my fears, frustrations, and pain. Sometimes I even dreamed that I’d hurt my father or made him go away and that my mother would be safe. Even though they felt more like “good” dreams that gave me hope, they still made me feel sad and hurt.

Depending on what I was going through, my nightmares would intensify. Sometimes they were so intense that I couldn’t breathe and that it felt like I was going to die. And because of that, I didn’t sleep alone, and I had to have my mother next to me. I needed her if I would wake up after a nightmare. It took a while for me to fall back asleep, usually with my mother helping me in some kind of way. She would either sing to me, read to me, tell me a story, caress my hair, or I would lay my head on her chest and listen to her heartbeat. I was somewhere around the age of 12 when I was able to sleep independently. But never did my nightmares stop indefinitely. I even went through several weeks of having nightmares every night, sometimes multiples in one night. And worst of all, I could remember almost all of them. People who know me well, know that I have an incredible memory. I still remember things vividly from when I was little. Or being able to observe tiny details and remember those. Having a good memory comes in handy many times in life or conversations, but believe me when I say that it can be an enormous burden as well. Especially with things that I’d rather forget.

In 2007, when I was 14 years old, I was sexually assaulted by a group of people in my hometown. It was wintertime, so it was already dark outside after 6 pm. I didn’t see my perpetrators because they pulled my winter hat over my face, and they covered my mouth, preventing me from screaming. Ironically, it was my first time wearing a winter hat, which was the day that I’d bought it. You can probably imagine that I was terrified to wear a winter hat after that. It was 2017 when I had enough courage to buy a new, similar-looking winter hat and wear it again during wintertime. 10 whole years. But I was proud when I did. Back in 2007, after the assault, I went to a dark place. I suffered from PTSD (post-traumatic stress disorder), my confidence was shattered, and I almost lived two separate lives. I showed people that I was ok and was recovering fast. However, it was a different situation on the inside and at home. I was insecure, felt dirty, and was disgusted with myself. I wasn’t able to look into the mirror. And if I did, all I saw was a revolting image of my face, my body. I again went through a painful period of intense nightmares during this period. I would relive the assault again, or I had similar nightmares because of my feelings, fears, and disgust. My mother and I used to sleep in the same bed again during that period. She told me that I would cry in my sleep make noises that indicated that I didn’t like what was happening. Many times when I woke up, I started screaming, scratching my body, or trying to wipe away all the “dirt” from my body. Sometimes, I would run to the shower and wash away everything while still wearing clothes. My nightmares didn’t help the process of recovery. In fact, they made it worse because I kept reliving it night after night. It felt like I was being tortured by my nightmares, by my own memories. As I mentioned before, my dreams, in general, are usually very vivid. This isn’t bad when you have dreams that make you happy, but it is horrible when having nightmares. I could feel everything again, all those things they did to me, and all the physical pain that I felt. It was unbearable.

Every time that I am traumatized by an event in my life, I go through a period of intensified and vivid nightmares. They make me feel so vulnerable and powerless. Having these types of nightmares is highly exhausting and emotionally draining. Usually, I am low on energy, less enthusiastic, fatigued, and I don’t function normally during these periods. It takes a while to recover. The only good thing about having vivid dreams is that they can make me very happy whenever I dream something positive. It can give me loads of energy. Especially dreams where I get to talk to my mother or hug her again. When I wake up, it’s a bittersweet feeling, but I focus on the sweetness of it. It’s positive energy, and it fuels my engine with the right amount of spirit. So, it goes both ways. This is why I would never trade in my vivid dreams. All of it is me. Sometimes I have dreams which can be totally unrelated to something I went through, good or bad. These can be very creative as well. It’s entertaining sometimes, actually.

My dreams and my nightmares are both my creations. It’s my mind that creates these images for me, a mixture of everything and anything that resides in me. A projection of my feelings.