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#ptsd dreams
mentalhealththingz · 2 years
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ashersskye · 13 days
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🧚🧚🧚🧚🧚🧚
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This is the Good Wish Nightmare Fairy here to protect you from all bad dreams, stress induced dreams, and traumatic nightmares.
Please remember that our dreams can be our subconscious mind working through our stress while we rest.
Please have some night time comforts on hand to help ease you back into awareness when you wake up. You can opt for things like a cherished plushie, soothing music or soundscapes, a night light, a night time journal, and some bedside water or juice.
Your nightmares don't have to feel so scary anymore. You're not alone now. You're safe.
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the-depressed-medic · 1 month
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A Paramedics Forgiveness.
TW: Death, Car crash, PTSD, Flashbacks, Blood, Medical Trauma.
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Silence. Than the sensations of cold embracing me. I open my eyes.
In front of me is an expanse of white snow, blanketing the rolling hills in front of me. The lunar light cascading over each flake, shimmering like a thousand stars. Beyond that, the pale blue ice of a frozen glacial lake lies at the foot of many great peaks, reaching up almost as if to impale the heavens. The woods behind me are full of ancient pines, green in spite of the bitter cold that bites at my flesh. There is nothing here. Besides me. So I walk, towards the heavens, no recollection of me, no goal, just an inclination to approach the gray monoliths — almost as if the mountains themselves are beckoning me forwards to their calloused weathered surface for an embrace.
As I trek through the snow, the white fluff creeping up to my knees almost as if to swallow me, I feel something. I don’t know what to call it, but I think it’s my sign to keep walking. The lake is near now. How long had I been walking? I’m not sure, all I know now is I’m here now. Absorbing the scenery once again, I notice that the ice is, well, still beautiful. But there’s something familiar about the soft blue Hues of the ice. Something warm. Something… 
Something…
I saw her. Or I saw her eyes at least. The hints of soft grey much like the rock of the mountain, and the glacial blue that dominates her iris. The way the color spirals, vibrant yet soft. The ink black pupils constricting and contracting much like the expanse of the dark night sky above me. The highlights of her eyes much like the glistening of moonlight over the fresh snow. Her eyes were even more beautiful than the mountains, than the glacier. But who’s eyes? And why do I feel a sense of loss? Is it a sorrow for the memories lost, or for the girl?
Then I glance down into the white snow. Awoken by a harsh whooshing of wind against my face. The snow carried by the gust of wind striking my cold and sensitive skin much like shards of glass. The glimpse of heaven I saw within those eyes vanished as quickly as it appeared. 
Glass. Why does the stinging remind me of glass? Than again, I’m not in the field anymore. I see a thousand shards of glass scattered across the worn down gray cement of a roadway. Light striking their sharp edges and reflecting in every which way. Much like the snow with the moonlight. White, blue, red. The light glistening from the glass — Pulsating with the colorful lights. Then once again I’m back to where I had been. 
Keep on walking. Around the bank of the glacial lake, with its beautiful colors. Under the soft moonlight illuminating my path. I can’t think of anything besides her eyes. The glass. I can’t remember. Than the ice calls to me. To walk across it’s smooth expanse. To stare down through it’s nearly translucent surface. And so I deviate from my path. Taking a hesitant but confident step onto the ice. It’s surface strong and unyielding. It’s expanse supporting each step. One after another. The rocks beneath the ice, smooth and weathered by years of soft currents fill the void beneath me. Step, by step, I cross. Step by step, until I arrive in the middle of the lake. 
I stop. I'm not sure why, but I did. I turn back and observe the path I had made through the snow. Steady and unyielding, much like the ice that now holds me above its tranquil fluid core. But then again, I may have been steady through my trek, but I do not feel steady now. Who is she? Who am I? Just as my stability leaves my mind, the ice follows suit. 
Crack.
Crack. 
I plummet through the ice. Through her iris. It’s cold. The moonlight shimmering around me, illuminating my descent into the cold. Swim. I need to swim. But why? What is there to live for with no past? Am I even really here? Do I even matter? What use is it to swim? 
“I Need you to help me”
I open my eyes and look up. Those eyes. Staring into my soul. They see me. And the voice. So elegant in its speech, so soft, and yet so firm. It is not asking me, it is ordering me. I need to know. Who is she? What does she want with me? Who the fuck am I?
And so I did, I swam, I followed her command and emerged from the ice. Soaking wet and cold, on the verge of hypothermia I walked across the ice, firm and steady in my movements. The cold searing every inch of me. I continued regardless. One foot in front of the other. One step. Two steps, the rhythm carrying me off until…
Blood. In Front of me hundreds of thousands of pieces of broken glass. And I feel wet. But this is warm. Not like the ice water. I look down, there is blood on my hands, or rather my gloves. The blood extends up onto my forearms. Leaving streaks of brownish red crust. The blood on my gloves still fresh, a deep crimson red against the light blue of my gloves. Where is the blood coming from? 
And I emerge. Back into what I think is reality. The lake is a mile, maybe more behind me. And in front of me, standing over me at great height and size are the mountains. The exposed gray rock is lightly coated with snow. The plateaus and hand holds glistening with layers of ice and snow. I must climb. It’s time to figure out what exactly I am here for. 
One hand, one foot, other hand, other foot. Up and up I climb. Relentless in my pursuit. My clothes now frozen solid to my body. All my neurons are screaming. Stop. Stop for the love of god. But I know I must continue my ascent. 
Hundreds upon hundreds of feet I must’ve have gone at this point. Then a loose rock got the best of me. The rock I had used as a grip had slipped, and gave away under my weight. I caught myself with my other holds. My hand had been slashed across the sharp unyielding surface of the mountain. Blood. My blood had been smeared across the gray rock. And then…
Again, there is the glass. Shimmering white blue and red in the lights. The blood still coating my arms and gloved hands. I glance over and see the metal. Grey and crumpled much like the texture of the mountain. The metal surface covered with sharp ridges protruding from what should have been a smooth metal shell. Why do I know that it should be smooth? Crimson. I notice the crimson much like the blood I had smeared across the mountains side, there is blood streaking across the gray metal exterior. 
Then back to the mountain I return. Ascend. Climb. Keep going. I must keep going. 
For hours, I climbed. Continuously, without fear, without regret, without hesitation. I climb. All I know is I have lost something, and I can’t stop ascending until I find it. 
I summit the mountain after what felt like an eternity. Completely exhausted, using every ounce of will power to move my broken and frozen body across the snow covered peak. I See something. A person? I run. Every part of me barely cooperating until I collapse next to the figure laying in the snow. I look upon her face and see those same eyes. And then I’m gone. 
I am back to the blue and red, the glass spread across the gray pavement, the streaks of blood across the crumpled metal shell. The blood covering my gloved arms. And then I hear it. “I need you, please help me”. I look over and see the woman with the perfect eyes lying halfway outside of a crumpled gray sedan. Blood streaming from her mouth, and from countless small lacerations across her skin. Those eyes stare into my soul, and once again she begs for my help. Then she goes still. Her eyes still focused on me dispite her respirations becoming irregular shallow agonal. The blue of her eyes contrasted against the dark red blood running acrossed her cheeks and smeared across her face. 
I'm back on the mountain. This god forsaken mountain. She’s still there, but now on top of this frozen monolith of rock ice and snow, she is on a hospital bed. The snow halfway up the side of the bed contrasting against the faded yellowing plastic. The endotracheal tube I had placed hanging out of the corner of her mouth. The ventilator disconnected. The monitor on the table besides her shows asystole. The chest tubes no longer drains blood, there is probably no blood left or a heart beat to pump it anyways. I look up from her body and glimpse over the frozen landscape beyond us. The frozen glacial lake with a hole in the middle. My footprints in the snow emerging from the tree line. To the other side of the mountain, beyond her corpse, I see a white field. There is the car. The gray sedan I had seen. Next to the sedan a black pickup truck with severe front end damage is lightly smoking. The driver of the pickup being led away in handcuffs for DUI. I see the 4 fire engines and an ambulance with their blue and red emergency lights shining across the white snowy expanse. I See myself get out of the ambulance. I See myself care for her. Carry her to the stretcher. I watch my partner drive off with me and her in the back. I take a step closer to her body. Her eyes still gazing upon my bare soul. Her beautiful, delicate eyes reflecting the scenery about us. Than, it’s white. 
She’s standing before me. She’s intact, nothing has happened. She is standing there, looking at me. All around us is blinding white. I can't speak, My body is still torn, my clothes frozen solid. She closes the distance and grabs my hands. Then she speaks. In the softest, most comforting voice I have ever heard, she said:
“I never asked you to suffer”
I respond: 
I know you didn’t. You begged me to help you and I failed. I’m so sorry. 
“You tried your best, did you not?”
I did. I gave you all I had. And it wasn’t good enough.
“You gave me all you had. That’s all I asked you for. So why are we here?”
I don’t know. Why don’t you tell me? 
“Because you can’t let me go. You remember my eyes. You remember my voice. You suffer. No one asked you to suffer. You live this ordeal over and over because you can’t let me go.” 
How am I supposed to move on when I can’t forgive myself for your death? For taking you away from your friends, from your family?
“Like this. My sweet child, you did everything you could. It’s not your fault. For the love of god it’s not your fault. I forgive you. Let me go. It was never your fault. You did everything you could for me. You even held my hand and told me goodbye when they called my time of death at the hospital. It is not your fault.”
And before I can say anything more, she embraced me. The blood still coating my skin and clothes disappears. I feel her warmth fill me. My tattered and frozen clothes dry and mend. My wounds close. I feel clean. I am clean. I am absolved. And just like that, she’s gone. 
…..
“Sir”
I can hear sirens blaring. 
“Sir talk to me”
… 
“Squeeze my hand if you can hear me”
I do. I squeeze the hand.
“Good, my name is Josh. I’m a paramedic. You overdosed and had died on us for a bit but we got you back. I’m doing everything I can to get you to the hospital alive. Just keep squeezing my hand”
Authors note: This is my first time ever posting something I've wrote. This story involves my personal experiences. No identifiable information is contained that can be used to find patient information or identify myself.
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unstabull · 3 months
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had a really awful graphic dream about my ex. I feel sick and alone. It's hard having ugly dreams and nowhere to vent them because they could hurt others with how triggering they are.
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Hey, can you explain to me how nightmares that are connected to CPTSD work? I have two recurring places in my nightmares and they always have the same "fear factor". For example, one place is my college. In reality I visited it almost daily and very occasionally left early, when I couldn't anymore. But in my dreams it is always a situation like "I want to leave now but people may not see me or they will yell at me/lock me in" so I kinda hide and run away. Though in reality (my college knew about my mental health) it was never an issues. I said "Sorry, need to go" and was allowed to leave (I mean, I was an adult). Both dream places have this "realistic background but totally made up situation" storyline, all the time. And always the same story, in different flavors. Especially about the other place I have so many traumatic memories I could dream about. Idk why I always dream about this "half-real-half-made-up" situations.
Which raised the question in me, how do trauma-nightmares work? (The other place and trauma happened 12 years ago and the nightmares still hit as hard as they did immediately afterwards). And, my college wasn't even traumatic. It was my home at that time, why don't I ever dream about that? Is is annoying, I have those nightmares at least weekly, but also a very interesting topic.
I hope you don't mind me asking that.
Hi anon,
It's possible that your brain is trying to navigate the level of safety in your current environment by entertaining scenarios where you're made to feel unsafe. Perhaps your brain is focused more on how safe or unsafe you might be now, as opposed to an environment you're no longer in. Personally when I was in college I started to have dreams that my abuser came to my college because, at least in my mind, I understand that to be my brain considering just how safe I am in the new place. It's also possible that the themes you mentioned such as feeling trapped, fearing that others may react badly or prevent you from leaving, loss of power, control, or autonomy, could all potentially come from your trauma, which could explain why it's recurring.
In my experience, trauma nightmares tend to be focused around things I don't have closure for, like missing photos, unanswered questions, unprocessed memories, etc. Sometimes it also entertained fictional scenarios like if my abuser was disabled, trans, old, young, and how these change the existing dynamic. I found that creating these half-truth scenarios (like that the abuse is still real but something about the dynamic is different) was a way for me to subconsciously process the trauma by looking at it from a different angle. I wonder if this resonates with you.
I hope that your college offers counseling services as it could help you with these distressing nightmares, if that's something you're interested or not already in. I also hope that I could help, and please let us know if you need anything.
-Bun
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side-blog-for-vents · 5 months
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I hate being haunted by thoughts of people who abused me. You're so nice in the constant dreams I have, you're so comforting, why was that never true?
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jellorat · 1 year
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Nightmares
I have PTSD from being a homeless teen in the 80s and having a horrific and violent upbringing. I used to have shockingly horrifying dreams, and I find writing them out helps.
I had a few things going on today. I had therapy, got a Covid booster yesterday, and I have a small fever today, and for reasons I can't explain, we watched this youtube video:
youtube
This is a good historian review of mostly historically accurate battle scenes. My wife does a youtube channel going over battles of the American Civil War and WWI, and I like history.
However, all these factors together did not do well for me. After I watched this, I went to bed because I was feverish and woke up with the following dream.
Trigger Warning: Death and war.
I woke up from a very very clear dream. It wasn't so much a war dream, but the aftermath. I was the vicar somewhere in Scotland or Ireland, or somewhere over there. It was an amalgamation of the first and second world wars.
I was in the churchyard digging graves. There was so many dead, and my wife had died in the bombing. I had laid out my wife next to four young soldiers. The soldiers were in their teens. They looked so young. 16-18 in age. I had them arrayed out around my wife because I hoped my wife would take care of them in the afterlife.
I was older than I am now. Today I am 51 in real life, but I think I was more in my mid to late 60s in the dream.
It was an overcast day, and I could not be sure if it was cloudy or if it was battlefield smoke. The fighting had raged on, leaving us all in its wake.
The little stone church had taken damage in the shelling, and my wife hadn't lived through it.
It was so damn detailed. I remember the smell of the wet turned-up earth and the smooth feel of the shovel's handle. I was so tired from digging. I wasn't the only one digging graves, and some of the men kept offering to do it for me, but I couldn't let them.
In WWI the "dog tags" were not metal like our modern ones, and I had four of them. I was worried about making sure these children's families knew they had died in the battle. I worried about what I was going to do without my wife. The only thing I didn't worry about was that my wife would absolutely take care of these boys in the afterlife because that is the kind of woman she is.
The most horrifying part was how clearly I envisioned their uniforms and my wife's dress. I just couldn't bring myself to put earth on them. It would be real when I did, and I just stood there looking at them in their graves, unable to do what I knew needed doing.
I woke up feverish and crying. I have not had a PTSD dream in years. Usually, I am down to non-specific night terrors these days.
My cat went and got my wife. Like, swear to god, the cat went and nipped at her heels until she followed the cat in and saw I was awake. I told my wife about my dream. Decades ago we'd do this when I had PTSD dreams.
My wife made a joke about her estrogen because she cried in sympathy, and that has changed since years ago.
I have never been in the army. I have never gone to war. I am thinking new house rule. No watching emotionally unsettling things when feverish. The problem with PTSD, for me, is that dreams don't always have anything to do with what I was traumatized by, but they carry a theme of horror.
This is an entirely new topic of PTSD dreams. Usually, I have dreams about being a horrible contagious monster that can give horrific diseases to my loved ones or sexual assault dreams. Okay, the latter is a bit related to my trauma. I haven't had any of those for close to a decade.
So I am going to sit here and eat leftover pizza while I wait for the Tylenol to take my fever down and then go back to bed. I think with the cat and my real-life wife, it will go much better this time.
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my dead grandma was in some sort of garden or yard, but she wasn’t visible. she was a sort of spirit, but we knew she was there. i walk into the area she’s in, and i find my great grandma (who is currently getting close to death) watching her daughter. i walk up to her, hold her hand, look at her, and say “it’s okay. you can be with her now.” she smiles at me, and slowly walks over to be with her daughter, my grandmother.
upon waking up, i was frantic, and i called my mom to check on my great grandma. i was certain she had passed, and i somehow knew about it. as far as we know, she hasn’t yet, but could at any time.
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iilelio · 1 year
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I have nightmares where im being chased a lot. Last night however, Dream me grew some balls and whipped around and yelled like a Karen at the monster man. He was just as confused as I was. 
Growth is possible or something. 
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There were zombies and spoiled milk. Trying to find a place to stay but the zombies kept getting in. No matter what we did they kept getting in.
I hate dreams about zombies. They’re my worst fear. I don’t really remember much of the dream, just weird clips.
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bug-lesbian · 20 days
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woke up crying and shaking from a super fucked nightmare. things were getting better and now im back to this…
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mentalhealththingz · 2 years
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cronavirus-ragnareich · 7 months
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PTSD Dreams be like..
Last night in my Dream I was diagnosed with Cancer again but this time I was given only a few months left to live. The dream was more about how I was forcing myself to be okay with it.
So I wake up with the relief it was just a dream mixed with the Morning Anxiety//Residual Dread that it could still happen in reality and I wouldn't cope nearly as well as I did in that f*cking dream...
((original artist I have no idea!!))
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zee-rambles · 1 month
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———-
Being there for each other.
First I Prev I Next
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wibble-wobbegong · 2 years
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will byers literally went to hell, redecorated it, came back to life, got possessed, and his biggest problem is some guy named Mike
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ambunny-heart · 1 month
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making plans for a tea party with bingo on saturday ! 🪵🧸✨🦫🍂🐰
⋆。゚☁︎。⋆。 ゚☾ ゚。⋆
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question of the day ⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚
ˎˊ˗ do you have irl little friends and/or sibbies?
a: i do, her name’s bingo ! we haven’t regressed or dreamed together yet, but we are very open about our interests and plans for agere in the future !!
@tinypupp ミ★ 🐶🍂
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