The Nightmare

The Nightmare Background: This dream sequence is from a larger story I'm writing. Jack is the American fiance of the mum in this story. He was in the US Army and he has just relocated the mum and her two boys, 11 and 10 from Hertfordshire, U.K. to Colorado, U.S.A. The boys' father committed suicide only 2 years before with a shotgun, leaving the family destitute and with a terrible secret.

Mum and Jack carried us off to bed. I was just awake enough for mum to give us a good night kiss. Jack leaned down and also gave us a good night kiss on the lips. I was revolted by the gesture and the taste of his mouth.

I had a horrible dream that night. I dreamed we were outside the Houses of Parliament in the chariot of Boadicea. I looked up and mum was Boadicea.

All at once there was a large explosion in the Houses of Parliament and it all came tumbling down in a flaming heap. I was horrified. The king was in the Houses of Parliament. Somehow he was dad. He had blown up the Houses of Parliament himself. A casket was removed from the ashes of parliament. It was his casket. There was a state funeral with the Union Flag over the casket. We couldn't see the body. The casket fell out of the hearse. It was empty. Where was dad?

At that moment General Patton drove up in his jeep. The jeep became a Ford Bronco and Patton was Jack. The army uniform he was wearing changed so that he was dressed as a knight from the crusades. He approached the chariot of Boadicea and said he was here to rescue her from the dragon. He climbed to the top of the ruins of Parliament and raised an enormous American Flag and proclaimed he was liberating us in the name of the United States of America. As he came back down he appeared in the dress of a sheriff from a western film and declared as he helped us down from the chariot that he was abolishing cricket, “soccer” and rugby. As mum stepped down she said "The king is dead. Long live the king!" Suddenly the surroundings faded and became a Wild West town with tumble weeds rolling through the streets and horses tied to the hitching rails. The enormous American flag was raised over a sheriff’s office and jail.

Coming Out of the Closet

Warning, the following content is freewheeling and may even contain triggers

No, not that closet, another one. This Jimmy Saville in the UK has opened quite a can of worms for me and quite a lot of others. I have a lot going through my mind at this time. I was a victim of physical, psychological abuse that has left me crippled. I don't deal well with real life. I have personal space issues, I'm angry most of the time and completely absorbed by anxiety. I push people away. I say hurtful things to them. I know I need help, but many people I know are either unwilling, unable or simply can't understand what a mountain this is for me.

Because of the Jimmy Saville issue, I've discovered a resource thanks to BBC, of the National Association of People Abused in Childhood, NAPAC. On their Facebook page, I'm afraid I just about hijack every thread I read there is so much I feel like exposing. I've decided perhaps it's more appropriate to blog. To be honest another member of NAPAC, M. C. gave me the idea with her own blog.

So here it goes. One of the most evident things in my life is that I have masks. Even my profile on the internet is a mask to some degree. It safely buffers me from the real world. Few people would see my online profile and say, "I know who that is!..."
In real life I have similar masks. I myself have horribly unbalanced relationships. I've picked up on a few individuals in NAPAC saying the same thing.
Boundaries. It's as if I have a very posh reception, where I deal with the majority of people, almost like an extrovert, but behind that facade is a dungeon where I keep to myself in a very introverted fashion. I believe every now and then someone sees beyond the facade and is completely shocked. It would be like walking into what you believe to be a really upscale establishment, seeing everything looking smart and then notice through a door on the side a decidedly unpolished crude interior.

The problem with masks is that they are exhausting. They require a lot of maintenance. It's like being a TV actor where everyone you know expects you to be that character. The problem is that so many of those masks leave a layer, much like furniture that has been repainted a number of times. Sometimes during the course of a relationship, a layer will become chipped or scratched, causing the layer beneath to become exposed. People generally dislike discovering that the person they thought you were is actually a fraud. They tend to believe the fraud extends to areas that could cause damage to themselves. They rarely think that the person may be protecting themselves in the only way they know how. I'm terrified of them discovering the prime layer. I've almost completely rejected that person. My everyday presentation is a lot more sophisticated than the pre-teen/teen that lost complete self confidence in himself due to circumstances of a physically/psychologically abusive step-father supported by an abusive fringe Pentacostal/Charismatic church, ignored by local police, exasserbated by bullying in school. I have reoccuring fantasies about blotting out that part of my life, about 10 years completely. I even made up an elaborate fantasy to tell people when they asked about that part of my life. Telling them the fantasy seemed more prudent or appropriate than vomitting my horrid experiences all over them. Again, from what I read in the Facebook NAPAC pages, I'm not the only one that struggles with the appropriateness of timing or topic when conversing with others.

A lower layer got exposed at work the other day.  I'm not claustrophobic, I could sleep in a closed coffin, if I had the air or the necessity (and it wasn't locked), but my boss, a man, asked me to come and take a box of paper from him in our tiny stockroom. He was shocked at the terror that was displayed on my face. I wanted him to come out first, -I didn't realize I LOOKED terrified. And the stockroom doesn't bother me, I could take a nap in there if I wanted to. My boss'  reaction was "Are you on drugs? -or maybe you need to be!"

I was reminded again about how much personal space I feel comfortable with and feel I require. In school, I think I was a bit of a put off for that exact reason. I have distinct memories of a girl who had a crush on me sneaking up behind me and hugging me from behind. I nearly jumped out of my skin. I think my personal space issues gave rise to wide speculation that I was gay. This in turn lead to a lot of bum pinching on the part of other students which just exaserbated my personal space issues.

 

I'm very grateful to the NAPAC. It has finally given me an outlet. I have had varying reactions from "You need to get on with your life!" to "You need to stop being a victim!" Both bits of advice are wonderful, except it's extremely difficult to implement when you're staring up out of the bottom of a well.