So, I’m gonna start this off by apologizing beforehand; I’m usually a lurker here, so sorry if this isn’t exactly the most thrilling read.
I’m not really too comfortable sharing my name or really any identifying info so I’ll be a little vague in some parts. For now, you guys can call me Rhee. A couple years back, I was diagnosed with DID (Dissociative Personality Disorder) after what can only be described as an “Episode’. I’ve never really payed it much mind (My guidance counselor always said “Everyone has a bit of crazy in them”). I don’t know. Denial, I guess.
Despite not taking any medications or seeking any other treatments, I’ve always seen myself as high functioning to the point where I sometimes doubt if I even have DID at all. Well, That all changed last week. You see, ever since last week I’ve been having the same recurring dream. I’m not sure what triggered them but I know one thing: I woke up as a little girl, laying on a white mattress stained with piss, shit, and whatever else my god forsaken mind could come up with.
I know what you’re thinking: ‘This doesn’t sound all that terrible.” and you would be correct. That is, if I wasn’t handcuffed to it. Yeah , you read that right. Me, a grown ass man, is having a reoccurring dream of being tied up to a bed as a prepubescent girl. And you know what? It gets worse. I always start off panicking, crying for my mother, you know, the usual “Chained up in what appears to be a sex dungeon” reaction.
Once the adrenaline and the whole absurdity of the situation wears off, I take a moment to survey my surroundings. I’m in a dark, rusty basement covered in stains of what I can only hope is blood. Across from me is another bed similar to the one I’ve found myself in. On the floor next to me lies a cracked picture frame lying face down. As I start to wonder what such a fancy picture frame would be doing in such a filthy place, I start to hear the footsteps. The dream usually stops before the footsteps can reach the entrance to the basement.
I was able to deal with my nocturnal captivity for just a little under a week. Day after day, night after night, the same dream. I was content with just suffering in silence until I woke up last night in an abandoned cornfield miles away from home with no memory of how I even got there. As soon as I got home this morning, I scheduled an appointment with any shrink willing to take me. Can you blame me? At this point in my story you and I can both agree that a little bit of therapy may be required.
Next thing you know, I’m sitting on a sofa bed, fidget cube in hand, telling an overly enthusiastic shrink about my nightly endeavors (Are these starting to sound like innuendos?). Surprisingly, she listened intently all the way through. And honestly, therapists are underrated, Dr. Jennings gave some pretty solid insight. She told me that disorders such as DID can sometimes stem from great childhood trauma. The thing about that is, I can remember barely anything about my childhood. I was adopted at 12 and pretty much everything before that is a blur.
While the advice itself wasn’t much help, it did give me an idea for getting to the bottom of these night terrors. I never really thought about life before being adopted, But It’s possible these dreams could have a larger meaning. And I think that meaning might lie in the past. Feel free to ask any questions in the meantime!
I’ll be posting updates as I find out more info. Stay tuned!
Edit: Ignore the wild username, I created this account when I was young and dumb.