From Hurt to Healing now available on Amazon ebooks

The second edition is the same except for a few additional paragraphs that include information I have gathered from family members since the initial publication of my book in 2004. These paragraphs are set apart as NOTES at the end of certain sections.

The second edition also contains a preview of my next book: From Faith, To Doubt, To … Hope? … Searching for Grace in the Brokenness. A story about the experience of Loss and the continued pursuit of Meaning and Hope.

Click  HERE  for more information about the ebook.


Nightmares that linger

What is it about nightmares that gives them so much power in the daytime? After all they’re not real, right? Right! And yet…

What seems to make my nightmares so powerful after I wake up is the fact that the feelings are very real.  When I wake up I don’t leave the fear, panic, nausea, panic (yes I said panic twice — not sure how else to emphasize it) behind.  It’s all still there. Even though the images are gone — as long as I can keep my eyes open and don’t slide off into the nightmare again — the feelings remain. And the feelings suck! 

Last night, or to be precise 4.10am this morning, I woke up in the middle of a nightmare. I had been pursued by a rapist who morphed into a man in black (no surprises there) and I was somehow looking down on the top of his head trying to fly through a broken window to escape. Then he flew too, and all of a sudden the figure became quite demonic and exaggerated, evil personified if you like.  The more religious might be inclined to say he became the devil, but to me “devil” is just a metaphor for evil. Either way you name it I was being pursued and trying to escape with my life. As is typical for me in such dreams, even when I try to interject the saving device of phoning for help, I can’t remember the phone number for my therapist or the police, and then the phone doesn’t work etc .etc. More panic.

This time I decided to jump into a body of water to escape … I think I was mixing religious mythology with the Wizard of Oz and hoping the devil would dissolve (melt). He did for a while and I sank into peacefulness. Quite happy to be succumbing to the watery depths.  It was such a relief. The he loomed again in front of me in the water …. And I woke up.  Panicked.

I paced the house for a while, trying not to wake my husband whose sleep patterns aren’t much better than my own, waiting for his alarm to sound so I could hang out for breakfast and experience some normalcy. 

So, the dream was fiction but the feelings were real? Yes. And yet…

There it is, you see. Freud and Jung, psychologists and Jackson Square“mystics,” they all know there is more to reality than just our conscious, immediate awareness. However much we try to deny it, there is some “real” in our dreams. Connections to events, feelings, senses, movies and TV images, memories, thoughts, memories of thoughts, thoughts of memories…whatever.  They can all play a part, as can our body chemistry. As a diabetic I know that I have cycles of blood levels during the night and that can affect the rest of my body I’m sure.

How we interpret dreams should I think be our own individual adventure.  Look for repeated themes or obvious connections to the Law and Order episode you watched before bedtime.  Consider what you ate or drank before bed and what your body might be trying to tell you. Don’t assume anything is a “revealed memory.”  Just unwrap the feelings during the day, maybe journal, and then let them go and see what seems to want to stay around. Then … well then you have to ask the piece that won’t go away … What is it that I need to learn? But if you don’t get an answer, leave it be. If there is something for you to learn, it will come up again another time.

To a fellow survivor

Last week I participated in a local SNAP press event. The first in a number of years.  A survivor had come back to town because of a law suit being heard in the federal court of appeal. It was the least I could do to be present for him. I know how much courage and emotional energy such action takes and how debilitating the emotional after-effects can be. Over the weekend I began working on a poem that I will share with SNAP and ask them to forward to him.

Charles Bishop, fellow survivor

I did not know him; I had never heard his name.
Yet I knew we had shared tears and nightmares
And 2am walks on city streets
Feeling safer among the shadows
Than in our own churches or homes.

He is my brother, my father, my friend,
Joined in a fellowship of body and blood,
Not Christ’s, but our own.
Child sacrifices on the altar of secrecy
To the gods of power and lust.

I did not know him, but now I heard his name.
And I saw, from behind his numb, dark-eyed stare
His wounded child-self looking out to my own.
For just a moment they held each other’s gaze,
And then he whispered, “Thank you.”

Mona Villarrubia, (c) June 16, 2011