Journeys Into My Dreamscape

I keep coming across them, those intrusive thoughts that rip me away from the mundane, those creeping visions of what used to be. They break into my consciousness tumultuously, rendering me full of angst and a sadness that’s grown into the depths of my soul. Each time I wonder to myself, how could I have given her so many chances? There are things that were done by her to me and my family that were so dastardly, that no one could expect anyone to forgive.

Yet still, I am faced with that abrasive comment, that the forgiveness is not for her, but for me. Time and time again I have begged to differ, that in a situation of healing, in lieu of forgiving someone for things that are unforgivable, that what’s really needed most is forgiving yourself. Far too often I have felt my own validity escape when I allowed forgiveness that she doesn’t deserve to overshadow my need to properly heal. Those things were so bad that saying I forgive you felt a lot like saying that it was okay and that she merely made bad decisions in life.

I watched the movie “The Meyerowitz Stories” and the children of an aging father were faced with the possibility of his death. What was told to be said were, “I love you. Forgive me. I forgive you. Thank you. Goodbye.” I later dreamt of saying this to my mother. A part of me still loves her and a very tender part of me still misses her. The only thing that this does is make me hate her more for being so cold that she would use my tenderness against me. That she would use that to keep me in her clutches so she could continue to pull me down in life.

It felt like closure and it felt like a release that I have never fully known before. Last night I dreamt of her again. I held the memory of it all morning long. It has now been too many hours at work to recall exactly what was said. I need to keep a dream journal and/or write these things down as soon as possible. We were somewhere. We were in a house that I had never been to before. I was confronting her and she was actually responding to me. I know this was just my subconscious working through it all because I have resigned myself to the thought that I would never get closure on this plane. She will never admit to her wrongdoings, being she is a Narcissist with BPD and Sociopathic traits. She’s incapable of taking blame or admitting fault.

As I’m writing this, I’m confronted with my own demons, my own mistakes as a mother. I know that my daughter loves me and sometimes I go through a period of self-loathing and self-destruction because I can never take those back. Yet like in my dream, I realize that a daughter will still bear those feelings and still want a connection and some sort of closure. I know my daughter will understand my own position when she gets older but right now she is a teenager and she is very angry with me.

For a lot of things I understand, I might even be able to say that I can see her perspective about all of her issues with me. The sad part of all of that is that she is so blinded by her fury and frustration that she cannot see my own perspective and struggles through the fog of her anger. I’m disappointed at how things went too. I can’t blame all of my misgivings on my mother but I can rightfully say that most of them were a product of her meddling, cold nature, as well as continued psychological, spiritual, and emotional abuse.

She pitted all of us against one another, my brothers and I. She even delighted in pulling my father into her bullshit at times that he was particularly vulnerable to her. I’m sure he feels like an idiot too. There are deep wounds from how she turned us all against one another and that very fact is what makes me feel so close to my brothers and my father. We all experienced it in our own way and we all have been unwanted dinner guests in her spun web while she feasted on our very essence. That’s the thing about people like this, they delight in taking away the things that cannot be replaced: family heirlooms, pictures (mostly before the internet), bonds, personal milestones, innocence, memories, love. She dangled them in front of us and reveled with sinister delight while playing the puppet-master to her marionette wielding the painfully temporary gold star marked “Golden Child”.

She made my daughter her golden child. I was the golden child a lot. Before that she took away my parental rights, right in front of my face, and I was completely powerless to contest her kind of crazy. I was afraid of her and more importantly, I was starting to realize just how dangerous it had been to remain close to her when she had access to my child’s heart and mind. I made a very grave mistake though I have read a quote on Facebook that put it all into perspective for me, “You can’t break out of prison until you know you’re in one.” That’s a pretty valid point and it’s probably why I have a barely functional case of agoraphobia and a social phobia.

How do I acknowledge that she’s no longer the warden of me? Maybe I can do this only in dreams but at least it still feels like progress.

Author: jessicaambateman

I am a survivor of childhood abuse on the verge of speaking out. I have waited my whole life to have the luxury of spilling my guts and blogging is going to become part of that journey.

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