Since I was a toddler, I have had a reoccurring dream about people breaking into my house with the intention of murdering me. For decades the dream culminated with me panicking in the basement of the house I grew up in while armed men burst through the doors. I moved out of my childhood home 16 years ago, and my subconscious has just gotten around to processing that information. I've been going through a period of increased nightmare frequency and this past week I dreamed of a home invasion in my actual 2014 home. Since I don't currently have a basement, I was hiding in my bathtub (trying to keep my dim-witted cats safe and quiet) when a man with a gun walked in and I woke up. Having these dreams night after night is affecting my sleep and my parents have offered helpful suggestions in how to manage this problem.
My mum has recommended I start seeing a psychiatrist. Can't really argue with that.
My dad's advice? "Walmaht sleeping pills." (He may deny his pronunciation of Walmart, but this is my blog. Also, he asked me who the heck "Paulina Pork-ah-doke-ah" was last night when a Sports Illustrated Swimsuit special was on TV. The Porizkova aside has nothing to do with this post, really, but I find it amusing.)
While everyone who has ever come into contact with me can agree that I would benefit from therapy, I am liking the simplicity of this. . . at least until I can convince Julie Andrews to sing me to sleep each night. I am confident that her lullabies would ward off nightmares, unlike my mum's famous lullabies, which still haunt my dreams.
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