My dreams have been weird lately. Not the usual violent re-imaginings of what he did or strange dreams that I forget once I opened my eyes. But these dreams these past few days I remember well into the day and hold onto because I want to know what they mean.
They start in my old High School but now it’s an Psych Ward. I’m in my usual Psych Ward outfit of PJ’s and sweaters and those socks with the no slick on the bottom. The fellow patients is my friend group from High School. Even the people I hate now. Even those who I’m still friends with. With my wife. Even Damien.
But Damien is nice to me. Very nice. I’m even dating him in the dream. A Harley drawn to her abusive Joker. But there was no abuse. The smiling demon was kind, gentle, all that I wanted him to be. All that he was in front of people (except when he obviously was not, my good friends telling me to leave him) But he was brighter. He even dressed brighter, not in the style I was usually attracted to. It’s a joke, my mind is trying to tell me that dark and broody is not good. Go for the guys who wear polo shirts and khakis. Which is bullshit. I’m not attracted to males any more, and even if I was, I like my dark and broody and Gothic. (just how I like my women and in betweens.)
But dating within the hospital is very very very against the rules. (has been at every hospital I’ve been sent to) ((though I know two couples who meet at one and continue the relationship on the outside. Successfully too)) But I guess in dream world no one cares. The couples from High School are still coupled. We sit in the same spots in the now “Day room” that we did back then. The huge windows now blinded so we can’t see outside, denied our sunshine and any idea of the weather. In one dream I looked out them and saw absolutely nothing, like we were in a vacuum. Which I guess we were. We never had visitors. We never had doctors. We never had nurses. We were in perpetual group therapy with no leaders.
I had my current diagnoses and everyone called me a liar. “Look at your boyfriend, he’s so sweet to you, he’s never raped you.” “He’s never hit you, we’ve all been watching.” “He would never lie to you.” “Liar.” Liar” “LIAR!” And then it echoes and repeats and maybe that’s why I can’t listen to Liar by Emilie Autumn, although it used to be me calling Damien a Liar. It was my song for him. Thank you EA.
But now I hear it in my head, doubting my memories. I was on Ativan, which makes you forget things. I guess? Not quite sure how it works. All I know for sure is that when I took half a bottle I lost an entire day. (and was hospitalized. This was November 2016)
All I know is that I’m starting to doubt myself. Was I raped? Was I raped as a child? Was I raped at 15? Was it repeatedly? Can I trust myself?