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Whoa, that Was Fucked Up

June 30, 2008 11:18 PM

very rarely remember my dreams. In fact, I don't really think I dream very much at all. But when I do--as I assume I must since I haven't gone insane--I don't remember them. They disappear from my mind the second I wake up, or very shortly thereafter.

I also very rarely think about my father. He died when I was three, and I have no memories about him at all. I only know what he looks like from pictures. People that did know him tell me that he was a pretty awesome guy, but for whatever reason, I've never really missed him or a father figure generally. My mom was awesome, and I never felt like I was missing out on anything. Although I have to admit that it took me a very long time to teach myself how to shave, so if fathers generally teach their sons, I guess I missed out on that. I'm also very bad at sports, but I don't think that having my dad around would have changed that. It seems like all that would have happened is that I'd still suck at sports and he pissed and disappointed.

Anyway, given that I rarely dream and rarely think about my father, I was sort of shocked this morning when I realized that I had had a very vivid dream about my father. And I was extremely shocked when I remembered the content of the dream.

I was in a very dark place--in fact, I couldn't see my dad, but I knew it was him. I don't think I was as old as I am now; I think I was about twelve, maybe. And I was really, really scared. My dad was very angry at me because, even though I was only twelve, I was who I am. And he was really disappointed and saying really mean things. He wasn't putting me down for any of the things I deserve to be put down for, either--he was insulting the various things about myself that I actually like. As the dream went on, I started standing up for myself a little and then more and more. And my dad got even more angry.

Then he pulled out a gun and threatened to kill me.

I nearly shat myself, but then I started standing up to him again because I knew that, even if he was angry and disappointed, I was still his son and he wouldn't kill me. And he didn't. At least not before the dream ended.

I've never subscribed to the notion that dreams mean anything. I analyze myself enough to know exactly how I feel about my dad--there's no work for my subconscious mind to do. But the thing still haunted me all day. It was really fucking strange.



1 Comments


Valerie said:

I have the most bizarre dreams, and I do actually remember most of them, at least for a little bit, by the time i get to the shower i generally forget them. next time i have a weird one, i will have to tell you about it. i think my brain may be on some sort of crack when i go to sleep because they never make any sense.

July 2, 2008 6:49 PM



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