My Recurring Bad Dream

I don’t often have bad dreams these days, but I had one last week.

And not just any bad dream; it’s one I’ve had many times before, and it’s always a variation of the same event.

They say that recurring bad dreams are a symptom of post traumatic stress disorder (PTSD), and it’s certainly been true in my experience.

Let me explain.

This Boxing Day marks 34 years since the cataclysmic argument when my mother kicked me out of home. In the words of the Redgum song, “I Was Only 19” LOL.

Regular readers will know that my mother had severe mental health issues, and on that day she took offence at something so completely minor I can’t remember what it was.

It’s common knowledge that Christmas is often a difficult time for those with mental health issues, and causes symptoms to escalate. It certainly seemed to tip my mother over the edge! Every year she would have a major blow up. (Is it any wonder I learned to hate Christmas?!)

I grew up with my mother breaking into (mostly) unpredictable rants and rages, becoming violent, and taking out her anger on us – her children. As the oldest I tended to cop it the worst.

On this particular day as she began to lash out at me, something within me rebelled. I knew I hadn’t done anything wrong, and I knew I didn’t deserve this treatment. I suddenly realised that I was a grown woman – pretty much the same size as her.

And so …

I hit her back.

Let’s just say, it didn’t go over well 😉 .

I was ordered to pack my bags and leave. As I threw some clothes into a plastic crate, I swore that I would never go back. That was the last straw. I’d wanted to leave home so many times before but apart from not having the means (I had only just finished teacher’s college and didn’t have a job), I didn’t want to abandon my younger siblings.

I didn’t have a penny to my name, and spent the next couple of months couch surfing before finding work as a checkout chick, and a room in a share house with some other girls from my church.

Not surprisingly I suffered terribly from PTSD for several years afterwards, although I didn’t realise it at the time.

I had regular bad dreams – and they were always variations of that final day: the argument; the violence; fleeing for my life; crying and terrified. Desperately trying to work out what to do. Where to go. A place to stay that was safe for myself and my siblings.

I might have been only 19, but all I wanted was to rescue my siblings so they could grow up in peace … even though I needed rescuing just as much as they did.

It was a pretty sh!tty youth, and it took me many years to recover.

Gradually my symptoms of PTSD abated, including the bad dreams.

Nowadays they are a pretty rare occurrence.

I suspect that last week’s bad dream was triggered by the fact that Christmas – the anniversary – is almost upon us. I woke feeling groggy and disoriented, with tears on my cheeks.

It took me a while to free myself from my nightmare. Fortunately I have a lovely husbear who sat with me and listened as I shared my bad dream, and helped me ground myself back in the current day.

I am so thankful for all that I have today. Here on the blog I do try to keep a positive spin on things most of the time (I’ve always been a ‘glass half full‘ kind of gal, which helps), but some may think I’ve lead a charmed life.

But as you can see, it’s not always been that way.

Do you ever have bad dreams? What do they tend to be about?!