Dissecting a CPTSD Nightmare

My traumatized brain is mean as hell to me.

Nightmares are a regular occurrence for me, a thrilling side-effect of my CPTSD, but this particular one had been nagging at me all day. As I recounted the heart-pounding details to my partner the next morning, I began to see the meaning through the seemingly random chaos.

Warning: This Section is Not for the Squeamish

In the nightmare, I was looking into a dimly lit bathroom mirror and holding onto something that I thought was a tube of lipstick or something.

When I opened the tube, however, it was like a spring-loaded booby trap. Picture one of those cans of nuts with the fake snakes in it, except even less fun.

A bunch of pieces of metal (imagine sharp, long metal toothpicks) came shooting out of the tube like a bullet.

I was looking into the tube when I opened it, so the metal spikes shot directly into my face. When I looked back into the mirror, there were about 10 of them grotesquely stabbed into me at all angles.

One piece had gone through my left cheek into my eye, which was milky white as though it had been blinded.

My right eye had a spike sticking straight out of it that moved when my eyes moved (a la that scene in Pirates of the Caribbean with the wooden eye and the fork).

My lips were pierced nearly shut by a couple of other pieces, so all I could do was moan.

Bizarrely, there were also cords somehow attached to the spikes. The cords had ensnared my arms, causing me to be twisted awkwardly. Whenever I’d try to put my arms down or move in any way, it yanked on the cords, causing more intense damage and pain.

Though little is known about how experiencing pain in dreams works, I’ll be the first to say from years of experience that it’s definitely possible to feel physically hurt in dreams. This dream was so vivid, so real, that it felt as though I could physically feel my face being shredded with each movement of my arms.

I kept trying to call for help, but of course, my groans weren’t loud enough.

I had the sense that my mom was somewhere in the house, so I went searching for her in the maze that envelops me night after night.

When I eventually found her, however, she instantly started talking at me nonstop about who knows what, not looking at me.

At first, I was trying not to expose her to the full brunt of my injuries, because it looked super terrifying and gory. I tried to get her to notice something was wrong without looking directly at me, covering the worst of my face with my hands even though moving them ripped at the spikes.

Even in my state of crisis, I was causing myself extreme pain in the name of trying not to freak someone I love out.

She couldn’t hear me over her own voice, and avoided looking at me to a degree that was nonsensical. It was as though she were purposefully not seeing my injuries.

Realization of Meaning

At this point in retelling my dream to my partner, I paused in awe. Damn, my brain is an asshole. The whole thing was about my period of abuse.

I was too afraid to show someone I loved and trusted how much pain I was in, because I didn’t want to scare her. Her lack of awareness of my position only prolonged my injuries, but I was too worried about her feelings to interrupt her rants with my own needs, even if they were clearly more emergent.

When she finally did notice my face, the first thing she said was, “What did you do?”, as though I’d shoved barbed pieces of metal into myself one by one. She immediately jumped to the assumption that I’d somehow caused my injuries, rather than the reality of something horrific having happened TO me.

This, too, is related to a feeling I often struggle with as a survivor of abuse.

Sharing details of domestic violence brings with it the anxiety of not being believed. It also brings an insidious fear of judgment for not having left earlier. As so many abuse survivors know all too well, this isn’t an unfounded fear.

So the rest of my dream family shows up, and everyone is talking over me. Some have acknowledged my injuries by now and are discussing them without my input, but still no one is rendering any kind of aid. They’re either treating me like this predicament was my fault or ignoring me completely.

None of their business, I’m sure.

Nobody’s tending to me in any manner, even though I’m clearly in emergent need of help and can barely move or speak.

They even take it one step further, asking me to do stuff for them like search for a place that could treat me.

I try to comply, but every time I move my arms it yanks on the cords, further destroying my face and causing me to cry out in agony.

At this point, my teeth are beginning to fall out as well (par for the course in my nightmares), further hindering my ability to speak.

Tears roll painfully down my bloodied cheeks.

Silent Screaming

Dreams often have more to tell us than we think. This was all very visceral to unconsciously experience, but it’s also fascinating to reflect on now.

Obviously, the metal spikes are the hidden emotional and mental injuries that I sustained during my period of abuse. The cords attached to my arms are me being badly injured and in tremendous pain, yet still being forced to try to function normally since no one else seems to notice or care that there’s a serious problem.

The spikes, like my abuse, were something that hurt me through no fault of my own, yet my dream loved ones either blamed or invalidated my pain, an experience common in cases of intimate partner violence. My dream family, in this case could have represented any of my loved ones, acquaintances, or even society at large.

The pain could literally be written all over your face, yet survivors are forced to treat their injuries as invisible, either out of fear of further harm or for the comfort of others.

I’m Glad You’re Here

After years spent advocating for domestic violence victims while hiding my own suffering, I refuse to let anyone feel abandoned in their abuse or its aftermath.

Trauma sucks. Recovery shouldn’t. That’s why I’m making communicating about my own experiences as normal as possible while actively calling out abuse and inequity when I see it.

My aim is to give others a safe environment in which to develop these tools so we can start making some much-needed changes together.

Please support my continued writing (and help me inch my way toward my first book) by following and engaging with me on trauma and advocacy. I’d love to hear from you!

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Veronica Wren Trauma Recovery Book Club

The Hearts Invisible Furies: A Novel — John Boyne

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