Festering Dreams, Broken Vases, and Catharsis

Content Warning:  Discussions/Mentions of suicide.

The night before last I had a dream that didn’t consciously bother me at the outset.  I even laughed and joked with my husband about it, even though it was disturbing.  Usually the dream world is populated with randomness to color the mise en scene, but this was different; this was a story I was reading from what seemed like Martin’s Dreamsongs.

The story was about a man taking care of his aging mother, and she was a vindictive and evil bitch.  The details of that are unclear and unimportant, but when she died there was a sense of relief.  Then the man started to notice himself acting strangely…saying and thinking things that his mother would.  He was a nice person, the antithesis to her, so he didn’t understand why she was getting to hm.  It turns out in the story this woman was so vindictive that when she died her consciousness refused to let go and went into her son.  Eventually, he kills himself because he can no longer take the pain/insanity, and it was implied in the story that either that’s what she wanted (reunion…which is questionable since I’m pretty on the fence about whether that even happens in the real world/after death) or he was just driven mad by guilt/grief.  It was also implied that it didn’t stop there because some monsters never rest.  The final sentence in the story was, “When mother calls you, you have to go,” which is the final line to a microstory I wrote a few months ago.  Afterwards I Mary Fahl’s “Better Left Alone” stuck in my head (there’s no video for it else I’d post it)..  I wish I’d had that choice.

This would make an excellent horror story; one that I will never write.  It obviously has references to FFVII and ASOIAF/GOT , the latter in light of the revelations about what Bran can do.

I’m so used to disassociating that when I first woke up, I was making light of it and being like, “Uhhhh wtf?” but it’s like a time bomb planted in your brain, a venomous seed waiting to grow.  The odd/interesting and possibly ironic thing is the other day I was attempting to encourage a friend who is dealing with their own issues by telling them my Broken Vase Philosophy of which I’ve made a video.  As that is not yet edited/ready to share, I’ll just have to tell you here.

If you’re a broken vase that’s been pieced back together, a few more cracks won’t change anything.  You’re already broken.  What does it matter is some pieces create more shards?  I use this as a tool to (fittingly) hold myself together when something unpleasant occurs, but…I’m starting to think that this is false.  Some things are wedges that plunge in between your most intimate, sundered cracks.  Digging in, shattering bits all the more, but you may be too broken to notice at the outset.  You’re so used to it that you brush it off, but when you examine your hand you bleed..

I was going to make this just a Facebook status, but it became to extensive for that.  I’m fairly sure there’s already a story about it (besides FFVII  and ASOIAF I mean.  I’m thinking one set in this actually world); it seems so familiar, so known in its rue.

At the very least this post was cathartic.  My hands aren’t shaking anymore; I don’t feel like I’m going to cry.  Putting it out into the zeitgeist means I don’t have to carry it.  I was reading a post about the latest released chapter in GRRM’s masterpiece, and mentions of Lovecraftian abominations that are too terrible to comprehend just brought me back, because it’s one of the many shared paradigms.  It’s difficult when your favorite stores share common motifs, and when one major motif is your own.

Feel free to use this as a story prompt if you are so inclined.  The most disturbing horror tropes utilize the most endearing, and “Mother is the name for God.”

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