Fucked Up Dreams...

For the last week or so, I have been having a string of just ridiculously fucked up dreams. The kind from which you wake up and are just disturbed and angry.

Last night, I had several dreams that freaked me out. The last won was the Golden Globe Winner for Most Disturbing Drama. I had a dream that I was at my Mom's house and she comes in the house in hooker gear, after being missing for a few days, with a pimp waiting for her out in a big black truck, and she is all fucked up on meth. (Talk about transposing ones own fears onto another figure, right?).

I tried to confront her about it, and she shrugged it off and went on ahead and got higher. She tried to stop me from calling for help by ripping out the house phone and hiding it, but luckily I had a cellie in my pocket. I ran out of the front door and there on the front porch were two packages wrapped in black wrapping paper tied up with red bows. The larger of the two packages was empty the other still wrapped.

The shady pimp just sat in his car looking menacing. Luckily a parade was going by the front of the house with a police escort. I ran up to the police and told them that my Mom was high and needed help. The white cop...of course he was white...looked at me...and said...he's one of them too...and started to call in on his speaker thing on the shoulder for "backup." I threatened to call his boss (whose name I couldn't remember), and then I ran.

Obviously my psyche is trying to tell me something. Quiana asked this morning what I thought the dream meant, and I was still too upset and close to it to think about it. Obviously my Mother is someone that I care about. Growing up, people would always tell me how much my Mother and I look alike (its the blonde hair). So, I think in this dream Mom was addict me. When I use, I am full of shame and guilt...I become hypersexual...and there is always some shady/shadowy sexual experiences that go down (hence the pimp in the black truck). I haven't a clue what the damn gift boxes are...and the cops are, I think, my fear of being castigated regardless of the fact that I am working hard to stay sober and make my life better, faster, stronger, more healthy. Of course the scared son in the dream is me right now...terrified of having that addict walk back through the door and knowing that it doesn't want to get better...it wants nicer lingerie and more drugs.

There was a whole lot there with that dream...but I'm glad I had it and that I'm able to make some sense of it. And, if I ever see a police escort at a parade, I am going to hike up my skirts and dash the other way.