Okay, Were the Cats in My Dream Trying to Steal My Soul… or Give Me Sweet, Sweet Bestiality Loving? – Nightmares

I tend to have some fracked up dreams, but one last night woke me up and made it hard to go back to sleep… And it was my favorite animal, being all creepy.

 

Cats.

So I dream that I’m sitting on the floor, going through bags of beef jerky to find the perfect piece. But suddenly, there’s a cat in front of me gobbling (and then regurgitating) the jerky right in front of me. “Hey Hershey (my cat’s name), stop that!” I yell and try to waves my hands at the cat. Until it turns around and looks at me and I know it’s not my cat. No. This cat of HELL has complete inky black fur (Hershey is tortoise-shell) and has black demon eyes with no pupil. Then I realize that I’m now lying flat of my stomach with my arms spread out and two more of these demon cats are holding down each arm with one paw. They also have the depths of hell eyes and fur. And they just stare at me.

This is the light skinned version. Creepy muthatrucka.

 

I realize this is a dream, and that I need to fight to wake up or these demon cats are going to kill me in my sleep. Finally I do, short of breath like I’ve been underwater. I reach for my handy-dandy smart phone and start googling the SH*T out of some dream sites.

 

So http://www.dreammoods.com says this: To see a black cat in your dream indicates that you are experiencing some fear in using your psychic abilities and believing in your intuition. You may erroneously associate the black cat with evil, destruction, and bad luck. In particular, if the black cat is biting, clawing or attacking you, then the dream means that you must acknowledge what your intuition is trying to tell you. You can no longer ignore it. Do not be afraid to face the situation.

Uhhhh, okay, so I believe in my intuition and NEVER try to ignore it anymore. About what? What is my intuition telling me?! I’m not trying to ignore it, it’s just not clear. Grrr… Arggggggh

The next site was http://www.experienceproject.com/dream-dictionary/Cats-dreams which told me: To dream of a cat, denotes ill luck, if you do not succeed in killing it or driving it from your sight. If the cat attacks you, you will have enemies who will go to any extreme to blacken your reputation and to cause you loss of property. But if you succeed in banishing it, you will overcome great obstacles and rise in fortune and fame.

Well, frack me, I fought to wake up! You’re saying I should have stayed in the creepy cat dream being held down by three cats with torture and murder in their evil eyes, just so I could fight them? With what? The fracking beef jerky? Bark like a dog?!

 

And then this last one I read before I said frack it I’m going to read for a bit, and then try to get my last 2 hours of sleep (http://dreamhawk.com/dream-dictionary/cat/ ): Because a cat is often an easy source of physical contact and affection it can depict the need to be cared for and warm affection, even sexual love accompanied with intense warm feelings.

You may have felt a lot of affection from a cat, and so associate it with sensual, or even sexual pleasure. It can also represent your need to care for someone or be cared for, to have close physical contact.

Example: ‘I went to the fridge to get out some mincemeat to feed the cat. It came in. As it fed I had a strong urge to touch it, such strong feelings of love were pouring out of me. The animal looked up at my face as I wanted to kiss it. The lips had pink lipstick on. I kissed it, it’s paw came up around my arm, I could see the black claws. We were rolling around on the floor, it felt very sexual.’ Monica.

 

Um…WTFBBQ?

That’s it. I stopped a kitty gang bang in my dream. All is right with the world.

I am under this pile. Completely violated. *Sniffle*

Sometimes Thoughts of Suicide Are For Entertainment Purposes Only

*Before I begin… thanks to all who read my last post… I didn’t write it so anyone would think ill or good of me… It’s just an extremely important part of my life I thought I would share, just in case anyone had a similar situation. It’s all about trying to help others right?

On to the crazy…

I know you’re looking at this title saying “WTF DT5, have you finally lost your teacups for good?” No… No… I’m still my optimum level of crazy. With a dash of sugar.

But I wonder if anyone else out there has the twisted way of thinking that I have. See, I’m one of those people who when I think of something really fracked up, I worry if there’s a mind reader around. You know? Like randomly there’s some old dude explaining stuff to a group, and your mind seems to have taken some LSD without your knowledge because:

Suddenly you are imagining this old wrinkled sack of flesh having smexy times.

Ugh. I wish my brain could vomit and leak out my ears. And I hope there wasn’t a Professor Xavier type mutant anywhere near to read all of that.

So, that’s just a small taste of the randomness of my brain. There’s so many weird compartments in here that even I’ve forgotten it. Seriously, my brain and its folds are like an Old Crazy Hoarder Cat Lady’s attic. Full of old dusty weird things…and is that hairball in the corner moving?! O_o

I’ve been in equal parts playing that I’m crazy and then really being off my rocker, that its hard to tell which is which. I’m functioning crazy. I’ve never been committed although one supervisor of mine tried to push for it. I’ve been on many medications, but feel I function better when I’m just high on life. So no need to try to find me, I’m long since past the days where I would be a danger to myself. I just like to joke about 😉

Back to weird thoughts… The truth is, I’ve only thought of actually killing myself twice while I went through two separate bouts of severe depression. Once was as a teen, the other as a young 20 something. While a teen, I didn’t even plan it out really. Just located things I could mix together that would hopefully put me out of my misery. As an adult I actually thought up 2 possible ways that would hopefully not hurt that much, and not take that long. But I never went through with it (obviously, or maybe not). And then I never thought of it again… in the same way.

So, although I didn’t have suicidal thoughts any longer since I’m in optimal functioning crazy mode, I began to have What If/ Choose your own gruesome adventures. But I really didn’t think of it as too weird. Until I opened my mouth around others and realized that it was kind of creepy to them.

For instance, do not energetically say that you heard drowning is the most relaxing way to go, and if you had a choice that’s what you would do, drink and swallow a couple of pills and then swim out into the ocean. People will look at you funny. Or if you talk about every time you’re driving in the mountains, you have this image in your head of hitting the rails and going over car and all down the cliff.

Those kind of conversations seem to only be allowed during deployments. Now, if you’re down in the sand box getting hit with mortar rounds everyday, you can joke about the port-a-potties that have been hit a couple of times, and get promises from your friends that if die on the toilet, they’d at least pull your pants up before anyone else sees what’s left of you. Or that if you get hit by anything, hopefully all you’ll lose is a baby toe… Because, come on, the baby toe isn’t all that important right?

Morbid humor only works with certain people I’ve learned. The anonymous dudes and dudettes of the internet, and about 75 percent of the military. But there’s a time and place and a such thing as going to far. I like not being locked up and going for mental health when I want to, and not on someone else’s orders. To do that, I just have to keep from opening my mouth about random crazy thoughts that may get me locked up. I guess I can still discuss what I’d do during a zombie apocalypse right?

 

Crazy must be genetic

So I’m writing in BEFORE thoughts in anticipation of taking Monster Teen to the doc tomorrow. To the head doc. I’ve avoided this for years but I think its starting to really hinder him. Both his teachers and I believe he may have ADHD.

This is not the only time its come up. Back when he was just a Monster elementary schooler, the teachers pushed for him to be medicated. I took him to a counselor that noted the bigger problem at the time was that he had a reading disability that only I had noticed and repeatedly tried to bring to his teacher’s attention. So he got his own IEP (individual education plan-I think it’s called) and received extra help in reading. And things got mucho better.

Until the last 2 years. There’s not a  reading problem (well, he’s still not at OMG the greatest level, but passing). But he just can’t seem to focus. I want to write this off as teenage boy hormones, but he, the Monster Teen himself, is actually concerned. He doesn’t like that he can’t focus, and is so forgetful. Heck, I’d be pissed too if I actually did the homework and then failed because I forgot to turn it in. So, I decided to have him tested. I’ve long thought that probably even I qualify, because oh look shiny happens more than I’d like to admit. It’s why I live off of 3 separate day planners and a chore list to keep me on track.

So, I’ve never wanted to label my child, well other than pet names, but we’ll see what happens with the doc tomorrow.

The next day…

So its official. Monster Teen will start on ADHD medicine. And continue to see the behavioral health specialist for ways to keep his short-term memory working and tricks for keeping focus. He asked very good questions, wanting to know about side effects and such. He was adamant in only wanting to take meds if it did not mess with his health or personality in an extreme way. And he’s like “I know that this isn’t a crutch, but I want to be able to focus like other people do and remember things the way I’m supposed to. Aww, I’m proud of the snot rag.

I also apologize to him, which trust me, doesn’t happen often. I told him that I was afraid of him being labeled so much that I wanted to ignore signs that were there. Bad mother. -30 points. But hey, we’ve got time to get him on track  to a good high school start. I’m excited to see what the changes will be like when he doesn’t misplace 20 bucks in less than 5 minutes. Heck I may want to get myself tested. Nah… I can handle my crazy. No need to add anything else to the long list of my nuttiness.

Behind Bloodshot Eyes…

A person I know, that possibly I may one day become good friends with, just came back after weeks of recovery after hitting rock bottom. Depression, PTSD, alcoholism the whole skinned cat. And it brought up memories. Of when I was there in that same place, freed after years of depression.

You get an emotional high for a while after you first break through the dark days and aren’t looking through smokey glasses at life. And then, of course, you have to maintain. The bandage is ripped off, you’ve gone through the hardest parts of psych surgery, and now its time for mental physical therapy. Make sense?

Its odd in this day and age in the military to talk about having mental problems NOT caused by the many deployments. In fact, I think for those of us like that, that suffered before, those deployments either helped us maintain in that time alone from all we cared about, or just put a band-aid on it. For my friend, it was a band-aid. For me, it was the former.

It’s been years since I was cutting on my wrists, trying to see how deeply I could cut without leaving permanent scars… of course I did end up having them, but I can only call it a miracle and blessing that they disappeared over the years.

I didn’t even suffer the kind of abuse that my friend did, not physical anyway. There was verbal abuse in my household… From my father even now. It’s why I don’t talk to him. Physical/sexual abuse in my early childhood years came from another female. It took me years to be comfortable with a female friendship after that.

But that is my past. One thing I’ve learned from mental health, and my own research is that you have to face your past and move on. You don’t let it rule you. Yes, I’ve gone to mental health over I’d say the past 15 years, off and on. Does that make me weak? Heck no! I’ve gone when I knew I was close to a breaking point, or just so stressed by my circumstances that I needed someone who didn’t know me to talk to. I don’t drink to excess, and keep in mind at all times that alcoholism runs on my dad’s side of the family. I hold my fathers picture in my head as a focus point of who I don’t want to be as a parent, and as a person. I wear my scars, the ones that cover my spirit, with pride AND humbleness. And I face new challenges, whether the outcome is good or bad, with no fear… But determination.

My friend will get through this time. He’s strong and surrounded by people who care. He’ll make it. And then, he’ll maintain.