I Had A Dream About My Dad

Trigger warning! This post contains details about different forms of sexual abuse. If you have ANY experience with this subject, this post might trigger you. Please be sure you're safe and sound while reading this post.

I dream a lot. 

They say those are symptoms of PTSD but I'm not convinced. My dreams are not re-living my trauma. They are scary many times, but that's normal. I did my final assignment about dreaming, sleeping , and anything that is linked to this subject. It always interested me, since I believe there is something our subconscious wants to tell us.

So like anyone else, I dream scary things, weird things. Those things are normal. But maybe some of my dreams are a little…odd. At least I have troubles with them. Those are the dreams that hunt me in my real life. The dreams that make me look different at other people. Not only because they play a role in my dream but because I'm ashamed of myself dreaming these horrific things.

Last week, I dreamed of my dad. To be honest, I never call him my dad in real life because saying the phrase “my dad” makes me feel sick. But that's a whole other chapter of my life. In my dream, he was still alive. I was my age or maybe a little younger. I needed to visit him.  But obviously, I didn't want to. In my dream, it was kind of obvious that he would rape me that particulate day. It felt like it was written in the stars. It felt like it was supposed to be that way.

I felt really afraid and anxious about what was going to happen. At first, I didn't want to go, but then something made me change my mind. It was not like I felt like I wanted to get raped by my own dad... but I just found peace in my faith.

After all, I had the feeling it would be a positive thing for my own mental health. The literal thought was “at least then I know for sure he raped me”

After this thought, it all happened as it was 'planned'. My dad raped me. It was weird to realize his face wasn't changed. It was the dad I remember from my childhood. The man I was that afraid of was having sex—having sex with his daughter—with me.

It hurts, never finding out. Always questioning myself, my memories.

After I woke up, I was really confused and I actually still am. I'm not even sure if I should call rape because I knew what was about to happen. So was it without consent? While I'm trying to think rationally right now I realize it's incest either way. But a thing that kept me thinking was the sentence I thought in my dream while making my decision. That thought tells me so much, maybe other people don't understand so let me try to explain to you.

My dad did wrong things, physical, mentally, verbally, and sexually. But I'm not sure how far he went on sexual aspects toward me. It's because I was so young that I'm not sure. In the last two years, this became more of a subject for me because I forgot some things for 10 years and they came back somehow. As I asked if the thoughts were really what happened, my mom told me I remembered it right. Trough the years I felt like I wasn't allowed to feel myself this way because he didn't really do something to me, at least it felt like that.

Now thinking of my dad, one of the first pictures in my head is him standing under the shower naked. But some things don't fit in my head like when he left when I was three years old. How can I even remember him being naked? These are the hard questions I'm questioning myself. I feel sick thinking about some things. I feel sad for feeling what I feel. I feel bad for thinking about what I think.

It hurts, never finding out. Always questioning myself, my memories.

It just wouldn't surprise me if he did more to me than I concretely can remember. I don't know, and maybe never will know. In some ways, it's exactly what I dreamed. It already feels like he did those things to me. Deep inside, I honestly feel like he raped me. But I'll never be sure. And in that way, it would have been easier if I knew, if I remembered because then my feelings would be valid. Now I'm an adult thinking that her dad did sexually molest her, without being able to share because I have no memories. It's just a deep, deep feeling I have been having for a long time. 

He's dead; I will never know. Even if more memories arise, they aren't reliable. They came too late. And if I'll never have any memories, I will hate myself forever for having these thoughts and feelings. Because at this point they are just as true as a lie.

But unfortunately, it is what I think and feel.

~written by Namasté allday~