I've been having nightmares again. Or should I say, the nightmares never stopped. They just have broken through the barrier that was provided by the medication. I'm having surreal nightmares. Like one where my whole home smelled of urine and as much as I cleaned I couldn't make it go away. Or where I had to be on the ceiling before a timer ran out and the floor dropped out beneath me to give way to iron spikes in a pit. Gravity was a thing in that dream and I was not successful in levitation. I'm not sure what to do with these nightmares. My brain is trying to process something.
I'm pretty sure I've got a trauma memory struggling to come to the surface. It figures as I find away to get myself back to writing that it has to rear its ugly damn head. I don't know how I am going to handle it. I'm debating just writing all of the trauma memories down, fictionalizing elements of it, and publishing it under a pseudonym. Or publishing it under my own name. There's enough crap there that I could probably have a few books out of it.
The fetish scene confuses me. I see people getting hot and bothered over stuff that I had happen as punishments as a kid. I look at it and go "I don't get it. It's not such a big deal to kneel on rice for a half hour. I did that and had to pick up the spilled rice down to the last grain by hand. It was better than being beaten with a switch." Then I stop and remember, what I grew up with wasn't normal. For these people, it's exotic and exciting. For me, it's a case of been there, done that.
Speaking of switches, I have a darkly funny story. One time, my brothers and I got in trouble messing around outside. Dad handed us his pocked knife and told us to each go cut a switch. We respectively cut three different lengths of switches. The smallest one was put aside and the brother who got it was reprimanded for expecting Dad to use something the size of his hand. The other brother came back with a switch that was more of a small branch. Dad literally said "How the hell did you cut that with a pocket knife?" My brother explained that he didn't but picked it up off the ground. That one got disregarded. I, the one who was considered the weakling of the family and the coward, came back with one about as long as my forearm, what I had seen Dad last cut off of the willow tree. He looked between the switch I was holding and the branch my brother was holding. He demanded his pocket knife back and walked away with this look of disgust on his face. But yeah, great way to avoid a switching is if you carry back a branch and a twig. They'll blow the other person's mind so that the one that's the right length looks too small next to the branch.
I've got black out periods in my memory. I know stuff happened. I was gaslighted to fill in a story for those periods in my history but I know those false memories are completely wrong. Like the business with how we were the ones who beat the hell out of ourselves with car antennas one winter afternoon. Nope, I remember that incident. We were actually being real careful because we were standing on an icy slab of concrete attempting to sword fight like we had seen in the movie we watched the night before. (Movie swordplay has yet to return to the level of Errol Flynn. I'm waiting Hollywood.) Mom looked out the kitchen window and came out, screaming at us. We turned over the antennas and were then whipped with them for about five minutes each. Thank goodness we were wearing denim and heavy snow clothes. I remember one of the snowsuits got ripped from it. Of course, the ripped snowsuit was blamed on the child wearing it, not the woman wielding the erstaz cane made from a car antenna.
People tell me it's normal to forget things, but it's not normal to forget over a decade of time. I've got patches out of about a third of my life that I don't remember clearly. So when I have a memory come up it fills in some of the confusion but it also makes things tumult. I'm not sure what's going to happen over the next few weeks. I feel like things are gearing up to get interesting in an unfun way with my brain. I see the psychiatrist this week. I may be having a medication change due to test results. I'm a little scared of that. Medication changes have always been hard on me. I just want to be able to get through the day. I feel like that's too much to ask some times.
I used to be able to do a lot more as you can tell by the way blog posts go on here. I just want to get back to that level of productivity.
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