As the end of another year, in this realm of existence approaches, it is getting easier to separate the delusional from reality. Through my whole life all I ever wanted was an acknowledgement that I lived through an abusive, destructive, and terror filled childhood.
Early in my sobriety I did a lot of self-analysing of my life. I spent loads of time looking at my dreams. They always seemed to have messages for me if I spent the time to try and listen to them. I’d go to sleep with a pad and pencil on my nightstand and when I awoke from a dream, I’d write down the highlights of what I had just experienced in my sleep.
On drunken nights my mouth brought my dad satisfaction, other nights my bed would be his urinal. I’d lay there perfectly still pretending to be asleep waiting for it to end. In the mornings, I’d awake to the slaps of my mom for being a baby and wetting the bed. But I kept the secret.Continue reading “Not Scared Of Hell”