As a child, I was tormented by nightmares. I probably averaged about four or five a night, and would wake mid-scream, gasping for air, unable to shake the terror that gripped me. As an adult, I am still visited regularly by my sleep demons, although now I consider them more a form of muse. Although no less frightening, they often inspire the stories about which I write.
Unfortunately, it seems my oldest daughter has inherited my overactive REM-induced imagination. A few examples of her nightmares include “a robot trying to stick 119 needles in (her) eye,” “wolves,” and dreams about the “humans trying to get (her).” The last one stopped after I was finally able to convince her that she was, in fact, a human herself. She was skeptical at first, but eventually relented.
At the age of two, she would run down our long hallway, screaming in terror, only to stop and then knock politely on our bedroom door before entering. Once she knew we were awake, she would then run frantically back and forth to and from her bedroom several times, insisting on “saving” her blanket and stuffed animals from whatever predatorial monster lurked. She’d never ask for our help, even though she was clearly petrified, and she wouldn’t stop to tell us about her dream until she had completed her heroic routine.
Nadja is terrified of giant clams out on the lawn that want to eat her. We are at a stage right now where she needs the closet light on.
…but hey, I’m with your daughter. The humans scare me too sometimes!
It’s interesting how even dream related things can be passed down. At least she has you to speak from experience! A journal is a good idea except i’m too lazy to physically write with pen and paper, much easier typing… although I don’t often have time to when I woke up and have to go to work. oh well, i will keep writing about my nightmares. hope you do too.
Wild, Lisa! I had a weird dream last night, coincidentally. I dreamed I was married to Michael Jordan (!), and one day when we were in our basement dungeon I discovered we had both a lion and a tiger loose in our house. So Michael, being the resourceful man he is, locked both of them in a closet. I was scared witless about the children and our pets, so I was trying to herd all of them up the stairs and out of the house while Michael watched the door to the closet, which was vibrating madly. But then I realized our cats had had a bunch of kittens, and I was scrambling around trying to catch them all to save them. It ended up with me upstairs, worried sick about my husband Michael in the basement. Then my real life husband shook me awake with the announcement, “Ohmygodit’s7:30wakeup!!!!!”
How weird is that?