Dream Analysis: #3

I won’t be going point by point quite like it did in Dream Shifts, Pt II. This dream wasn’t filled with so much specific symbology, i don’t think. I’ve come to the conclusion that it’s more of an overall commentary, rather than, this guy represents x, and this event represents y.

That being said, it is powerful, powerful imagery for me, and representative of a number of things. It is my brain diorama, a dream box, a mind play, representative of dichotomy, otherness, and conflict in my life.

I find the setting of an unofficially segregated graduation celebration most telling.
These children are celebrating the fact that they accomplished a great and difficult task. And yes, i call them children now, as i analyse the situation. I’m in my 50s and, as a parent, i know that if i’d lost one of my boys in their teen years, i would have wept and mourned them as children. In the scope of the bigger picture, older adults know that they are, indeed, children. The age my country ascribes to legal adulthood is arbitrary, and only necessary within our societal construct in order to maintain our current political framework. I mean, what i’m saying is we have to pick an age, because reasons. Because laws. Anyone in their 30s surely recognises that an 18yr old is still a child. Or at least in my opinion, they should be considered still children in some ways. I think of those years of say, 17-21 as transitional years. Still and all, i’d say adult maybe, but mature? Not necessarily.
So yeah, to me, which is what’s important to the analysis because it is my dream after all, they are children.

Back to the segregation of the white from the black children.
Why is it that they can all come together and party in the same place, but they cannot intermingle? This speaks to me of a number of my life issues. One, my mother instilling in me that we had to act “normal” and “fit in” around others, but her insistence that we were NOT like other people. She taught me that we were better: smarter and more evolved, and that other people weren’t capable of understand our ways because of it. A manipulation cleverly designed to hide the abuse, of course. Another issue this brings up for me is the othering that children do in school. There were rich and poor kids, advanced classes and remedial, which was decided by teachers sure, but you better believe kids understood the difference, and the crueler ones played on it. Then there was attractive and not attractive, which wasn’t necessarily based on actual looks (although it could be), but often more on if you were rich, or popular, or –as in the case of so many small towns whose schools i attended– if your family was well-established.

I don’t say this to be ignorant, but my 10yr high school reunion was an eye-opener. I had enough time and distance to see things through a different lens, and wow. Those that we’d held up as the most attractive and sought-after… I will diplomatically say that it wasn’t always the case. I will also further state, to save myself from being an arse like they were to me, that attractiveness is personal, arbitrary, and based on any number of criteria. And although i’m speaking from a purely aesthetic sense here, it is still and ever shall be, in the eye of the beholder. It’s just that i was treated as ugly, while others were touted as the most. gorgeous. EVER. I’m not ugly, and many of my fellow students that were likewise treated were not, either.

As i’ve grown and let go of a lot of the bullying i received growing up, i’ve found the lens through which i view physical attractiveness, is highly influenced by that person’s treatment of others. There’s a general sort of appeal to an aesthetic for me, but if a person is truly good and kind –even if initially i found their physical looks unremarkable– i find myself seeing them as more and more attractive.
That’s just me, though.

A more airy-fairy sort of interpretation is about my light and my dark. My conscious me and my subconscious me. My belief that i was one, and the truth that i am many. I want to be very clear here that this is just my brain and a dream. I’m not even distinguishing which group was light and which dark, which was conscious/subconscious. In the dream, the black children were stoic. I’m not sure what that speaks to. Is it just a reflection of some biases from my past? (My mother a vicious racist.) Is it my absorption of cultural, racial stereotyping from my past and my community? (I grew up in the 80s, in an area where there were almost no black or brown people, but plenty of uninformed opinions about said people.) I’m not sure, but i’m open to knowing. I’m not going to go on any further in that regard, because this is about my dream analysis, and my blog is not for socio-political issues. Just know that this blog is only about 1 particular aspect of my life, even though that aspect is enmeshed and far-reaching. I am a person who is more than childhood abuse and mental illness. I’m a multifaceted human being with myriad interests and many concerns – just like anyone else. In the dream, the white children were stuck up. I’m white, i grew up not knowing any non-whites except aboriginal people, and i wouldn’t characterise but a few as stuck up. I’m not sure what that means, beyond my brain was using established tropes to try and tell me something.
My brain will tell me if there’s more to it.
I want to know and it wants to tell me. Heh.

The most standout part after the segregation, is the part where i’m told to leave.
That and my reaction to it, seem to vibrate with meaning inside me.
It doesn’t take Freud or Jung or my therapist to tell me what that’s about.

1) You don’t belong here is the story of my life.
I was too poor, too weird, too fat, too mouthy, just tootoo much for everyone, everywhere i went. I was rejected by authority, by peers, by church members, by boys/men, and yes, even though it sounds maudlin and poor-meish – by society in general.

2) I was kicked out of certain areas of my brain for many years.
My system protected me from the truth until my mid-late 30s. I had dreams on and off, dreams that were actually memories, but i didn’t know that for a long time. I remember as a kid, daydreaming and my mind would stray over to a picture of the man i used to call Daddy. He was my mother’s married lover, and my second worst abuser, after her. I had no knowledge of him and what he was doing or what my mother was doing. I was entirely split off from those things. My Bits N’ Pieces were the ones dealing with the sexual abuse. So, i’m woolgathering and his face pops into my head. I’m feeling kind of weird: scared, nauseous, curious… And my brain would, i don’t know, some dissociative things are harder to explain than others. My brain would punt me into another part of my brain. Like, when i was at my babysitter’s house when i was very young, and i accidentally walked in on one of her teenage son’s using the downstairs bathroom (which was the only one i was allowed to use). I could see him sitting on the toilet as i was looking in the large mirror to my right, and he jumped up as quick as you’d think, and slammed the door closed. Like that.

As an adult i was almost always searching for a good therapist. I knew i needed help, i just couldn’t seem to find the right help for me. There were more times than i can remember (because i switch, because i’m a multiple, heh) that the person i was seeing would suggest what was called MPD (multiple personality disorder) at the time, and i would either never go back, or actually get up out of my seat and leave their office.
That was my system telling me, Nah, you need to go.

3) Inner commentary on where i’m at now.
The young, androgynous figure in the mirror is a good representative of where i’m currently at sexually. Although i’m queer, veering far closer to hetero, if i weren’t with my husband i’d consider and be capable of, strong feelings for anyone. I can’t say for sure, because i haven’t put it to the test. It’s my hope to stay in this monogamous, straight relationship for the rest of my life. But as i’ve dealt with the ways that sexual abuse affected me, and found some healing from it, and been able to be a better partner in my marriage, and dealt with my multiplicity… Well, i don’t know how i’d define it at this point. It’s personal and i’m not ready to say anything for sure but… Yeah, the mirror image has some meaning to me.

The Cher song.
My brain loves to irritate me with ear worms/whigs. That is my take on this one. Pfft.

The smug shit who tried to intimidate me.
That’s my mom, for sure, and how i went in anyway, and wiggled my ass at him after, is a sign to me that i’m breaking her control, in every way, more and more. Good stuff.

The sexually active kids in the booths.
I say kids because i don’t want to say children. Because i know what that’s about, and i don’t need to analyse that any further, and this blog doesn’t need any details.

**********

I think there’s probably more, but i don’t think it matters. I think what this is is just kind of a brain check-in.

Brain: So, you got this, eh? We’re all on the same page, right?

Me: Yeah, this is where we’re at.

Brain: Okay, cool beans.

If you actually read all this, wow. Internet cookie/hero sandwich, whatever. You pick, it’s yours.

Love and Peace,
~H~

Image: Emily Morter