Father was a monster syndrome

I dreamed that my father was killing all the people I loved and surrounding me with analogs of those who sold me out to him. It was pretty awful. In my dreams some logic (but not all, just the horrifying parts) works, so calling 911 on my cellphone did nothing.

I woke up and did some research on the iPhone and discovered that in real life you get directed to the California Highway Patrol, it’ll take minutes for a cell provider to locate your tower (by law they must do this even if you aren’t their customer), and then it’ll take locals time to find you in a space the size of several football fields. By which point people may very well be dead. So find out your local emergency numbers and program them in ahead of time, and use GPS to figure out cross streets.

But the nightmare didn’t end up being only a PSA. I went back to sleep to END IT. This doesn’t always work, as my nightmares are expecting me to do just that so they can drag me through more shit, like my father fire-bombing a daycare I was taking refuge in.

Third time turned out to be the charm. Let me just say that this was reckless behavior for me, because my nightmares are far more stronger than I am. Usually.

This time I turned my father into a silicon-covered cup. Then I took all my toys (analogs of the Overheard) and analogs of all the people who had been kind to me over the years to humiliate him two-by-two until he lost all magical power.

I don’t know what did that, I should be waking up with more nightmare damage but I didn’t.

I’m still not doing well after all that. I guess I’m just not doing well for a while now.