A couple of nights ago I had a dream, or perhaps a nightmare. While I was dreaming I realised it was a recurring dream, I just can’t remember the last time I dreamt it.
In the dream I was an abused wife. My husband would regularly beat me and verbally abuse me. I knew this even though it didn’t actually happen in my dream. Although I knew I should leave my husband, it felt impossible. It was as if I could take a step forward, but every step forward sent me two steps backwards. My husband was always watching me from the top of the driveway as I tried to reach the road. It was as if he knew that I knew that I wouldn’t get anywhere. I think he was holding a knife.
I couldn’t see the house. There was only a driveway and a sort of veranda next to it. Everything was quite grey. As characters we seemed to be dressed like the actors in Tennessee William’s play “A Streetcar Named Desire”.
In the end I resigned myself to the abuse and turned back to him, knowing he would kill me. I can’t describe the feeling I had while I was walking back up the driveway, seeing him coming closer. I wasn’t scared, just reluctantly accepting of the situation.
I woke up knowing this dream. I know I’ve dreamt it before, perhaps on more than one occasion. I wish I could remember where I was in my life the last time I dreamt it.
If I was to attempt to interpret this dream, I’d guess it has something to do with feeling stuck in my life at the moment. I’m in a job I’ve outgrown, but it’s a comfortable rut, so to speak. I should move onto something else but, although I often look at other jobs, I never take any other action, always reluctantly returning to the one I have.
I don’t think it has anything to do with my personal life. I’m not in a relationship, my boys and I get on well – in fact I rarely see them on weekends as they are always out socialising.
When I was a child I had a recurring nightmare that scared me. I was walking toward a house that looked like the one the Munsters lived in. It was a dark and stormy night (of course) with lightning flashing. I walked up to the front door and opened it (why?). The front door opened directly to a staircase and I walked up it (again, why?). At the top of the staircase was another doorway. I would put my hand on the door handle knowing that if I opened the door I would die.
I always woke up before I opened the door but I would be so scared that my entire body was stiff and I could hardly breathe. I knew I just had to wriggle a finger to be able to move my body again but it took such a long time for me to get the courage to wriggle my finger.
I stopped having that nightmare when I was about 12 but I still remember it vividly.