Before I forget it entirely, I had a dream Sunday night which was really awful. My mother.
I woke up at the Crisis Stabilization Unit, feeling more like a patient there, to discover that I had been dead. After some inquiry, I found out that I had been dead for three years, and that this was the reason for my state of mind–confusion, disorientation, and pain. I had been told that my mother had murdered me by hitting me on the back of the head with a pot. My head felt numb and sore and I felt a great lump up there. My mother was present in the dream, but was aloof and cold, and making no apologies. George, my uncle, was there. He said, “I thought she killed you a long time ago.” I got an image of a dagger through my head. I said something about child abuse, saying that’s what I thought happened.
But it was really strange to feel that I had been dead, and stranger yet to wake up from death
