As a child I used to have nightmares. This continued throughout my life, until my early twenties. Nowadays, they’re more like adventure games with just the right amount of dread thrown in for good measure. While you lovely readers try to figure out my age, let me explain the reason for the background information.
Nightmares became such a part of my sleep-life, that instead of being fearful in the usual sense, I developed a kind of respect for them. Sure I was scared out of my wits during, but I’ve gotten great writing material from a few and enjoyed them more or less. The ones featuring monsters, falling from cliffs, being chased, or other assorted ‘you gon die’ themes, were fine, it was the ones where my father starred, that are still the most horrifying.
He wasn’t sexually or physically abusive, but he was great at all the other kinds. I’ve had nightmares where my father was drowning, or trying to kill me in some other horrifying way, more often than I can count. And, I always wake up crying, fighting air (an unfortunate turn of events for an ex), mad as hell, or a bit of all three. A few days ago I had one of these, where tears were the waking order of the day and it inspired me to share this with you all.
Here in Barbados therapy is only just catching on and still not in a major way yet. We are generally like this: Have a problem? Deal with it. That’s probably half the reason I haven’t seriously considered it and, having survived and recovered from a pretty abusive relationship (another story for another time), I feel as if I can get over my daddy issues as well. We’ll see.
What I learnt
1) Monsters under the bed are not the scariest things out there.
2) To have an even greater appreciation for my wonderful mum.
Want more? Search using the keywords Jackie Reveals.