Pain

Pets In A Cup

Thursday, April 2, 2015; Unconscious dreaming

I was out with a good friend, Cliff, who was helping me look for a pet at a department store. One of the staff pointed where the pets were, and I headed over to the aisle. I walked the aisle but all I saw were stores of large cups but could hear animal sounds, all in distress. Upon a closer inspection, I could see that the sounds were coming from the cups lining the shelves. A sign above the shelves read ‘pets in a cup’. On the shelves along the left hung a sign saying, ‘puppies in a cup’. On the right the sign read, ‘kittens in a cup’.

Looking back to the left, I could now see the cups held puppies of several varieties: Dalmatians, Rottweilers, Dachshunds and others. These puppies were at the age of just being weaned from their mothers. Their small forms were tightly packed and sealed in clear cups with minuscule holes in the tops for air. The kittens were the same. Another but small sign along the shelves stated, “Expiration date, 32 hours after packing,” which meant if not sold and released, they would die.

I became more aware of their small whimpering, and their bodies so tightly packed, they were immobilized. I could not take their suffering and reached up, grabbing the first cup nearest me. I ripped open the top and pulled out a Dalmatian pup and released it onto the floor. I then pulled the next cup off and did the same. Those I had not gotten to rose their voices pleading that I would get to them. My friend Cliff saw what I was doing and began helping in the rescue.

We had made it through the puppies and started on the kittens when the manager of the department store stepped into the aisle.

What do you think you’re doing?” he screamed at us. I stepped up and got into his face.

We’re releasing the animals from their suffering, and before they die,” I told him.

You can’t come in here and do that, it’s illegal. These animals are store property; I’m calling the police,” the manager shot back.

Go head,” I screamed, “because I’m calling PETA. This is abuse. You and anyone else involved will be going to jail.” I turned away and went back to ripping open the cups and pouring the kittens onto the floor along with the puppies. A movement caught the corner of my eye and when I looked, the manager had joined me and Cliff in freeing the animals. When I came to the last in line of cups, there sat a square box. Inside was an octopus packed as tightly as the others but due to his gelatinous body, his tentacles squirmed around inside slimming things up. Being out of his element, he had to be suffering even more.

I pulled the box down but could not locate the lid. I punched the box in four sides opening small holes. On the fourth hole, the octopus flung out his tentacles and used them to push against my chest. The force caused me to drop him before I could finish breaking open the box. On the floor, the octopus ran off in a bizarre scene which reminded me of the green aliens on the Simpson’s.

I finished my line of cups and saw Cliff and the manager working on the last ones. I looked around to find more and noticed a monitor used in store advertising. I walked over and looked at the display. On the screen was a documentary on the company packing the animals and their procedure. Top opened cages ran parallel on each side of a conveyor belt. Inside the cages, were the puppies and kittens separated with their own kind. On the belt rode a line of cups, above the cups hung robotic arms. While the pups and kits played among themselves, the arms reached down and would snatch up one of the animals. The helpless creature then got pushed into the cup unexpectedly causing their limbs to become distorted. It was bad enough been packed so tightly, but this would greatly add to the pain.

I could not watch anymore and felt bile begin to rise in my throat. I ran up to the manager and asked where the restrooms were; he pointed to the back of the store. I took off, hoping I could keep things down until I reached the toilet. At the back of the store I searched but did not find them. I found a salesman for the store and asked where the restrooms were; he said he was new and did not know. Just then Cliff ran up and said he had found them. I followed him as we ran down the back wall to a single door. Cliff threw the door open and I rushed in. I dropped to the floor sticking my head over the toilet. As I heaved, I awoke.

Homeless

I stay pretty much a positive person, doing my best to look on the bright side of things. No matter how bad life can get, I’m sure there is someone near by who would gratefully trade places with me—whatever the situation is, it could always be worse. There are dreams that deeply depress me after I am awake, usually they are of other realities in which my life could have been totally different. I can usually deal with them, unless they involve my children or grandchildren.

These dreams I just would like to forget about because I know in all the realities out there, this may be another scenario I am living through. One thing to make clear, my father in this dream is not the father in my life here. I am blessed with a very loving father.

 

Wednesday, June 11, 2014, (an unconscious dream)

I had a very depressing dream to the point of wanting to forget it rather than write it down. I had my three children; Jonathan, Daniel and Marie who were 5, 4 and 3. We were homeless and living on the street. I had looked for work but there was none. In the dream, I arrived at my father’s apartment with my children. He answered the door and when he saw us, an irritated look appeared on his face. I explained my dilemma saying I had hoped we could stay with him until I had gotten work and a place to live. Since it was so late he allowed us to spend the night in his apartment. He made it clear that we had to be out by the time he got up in the morning and if anyone awoke him, we had to leave right then.

He did share his food that evening and went to bed after informing me we were not to awaken him. He closed the door to his room, which seemed to be made of thick steel. Because the apartment was only a one bedroom, I made beds on the living room floor, while Jonathan my oldest, helped his brother and sister get comfortable. The following morning I had to wake up the kids and leave. They were hungry, but I had been afraid my father would have awakened so we had to leave hungry.

We walked for some time, with my children upset because they were still tired and in need of a meal. As we passed a motel, an idea came to me. I took the kids behind the motel and came in through the rear door of the lobby. The motel had a free continental breakfast for its guests. Coming through the rear lobby door made it look as though we had stayed the night. We did not have any baths in sometime. What hurt me most was seeing my daughter filthy. Her long hair not brushed in sometime and her clothes were hand-me-downs from her brothers.

We all ate until full, and I had the kids stuff their pockets with what they could. This would provide some food for later. On the way out of the motel Daniel, my middle child, asked me if he could have a bath. It was heart breaking, but I had to explain we had nowhere to bathe. He asked if we could go back to his grandfather’s and use his shower. I knew what my father’s answer was going to be, but I had to ask for my children.We walked back to my father’s apartment, hoping he would at least allow us the use of his bathroom. I knocked lightly on the front door, but he never came. I tried the doorknob and found the door to be unlocked. I stepped inside and looked around. I had the kids come just inside the door and told them to be quiet. I tiptoed down the hall to his bedroom. The thick steel door was closed and locked, meaning he was in there but asleep. I would not even dare to awaken him knowing the results if I did. Our best bet was to come back in the morning when he was up.

I had to tell my children we would have to wait. Outside was dark, and I had to find a place for us to sleep. Marie held up her arms for me to carry her. I picked her up, and we left the apartment. Jonathan took Daniel’s hand, and they walked alongside me. Marie quickly fell asleep in my arms. I recalled a large stroller nearby someone had thrown out. If it was still there perhaps I could use it to put Marie in as a bed, but because it was late and dark by then the children were too tired to walk anymore.

Across the street from my father’s, apartment was a park. I led the boys into the thick grass and lay down. I kept Marie on my chest and had Jonathan and Daniel lie on each side of me. This way, they could use my shoulders as pillows. I wrapped my arms around them, and we all went to sleep in the grass. When I awoke, I was back here in my bed.

 

Castrating Fear

In the following dream, I recall an accident at the age of twelve. The accident and description are both real.

Thursday, March 20, 2014; (Unconscious dreaming)

I was standing in an operating room in front of a gurney. There were three staff members on the side of the gurney across from me, behind them were six copper looking tanks. On the gurney before me was the surgeon instead of a patient. The surgeon claimed to have a way of healing diseased body parts. The parts of the body that were infected had to be cut off and soaked in a chemical bath for some time. Once the disease was gone, and the part was healed it could be easily reattached to the person. The doctor was explaining all of this to me because I had a disease he wanted to help me get rid of. I had been very skeptical so the doctor was operating on himself.

The surgeon was in the process of cutting off his own limbs. As they came off, his staff placed them in small tanks. Once the doctor was down to one arm, his torso and head, he explained to me that all would be soaked for one year. After one year, his staff would put him back together and reanimate him. I stood there as the staff removed his arm and head placing them along with his torso in the tanks.

A year later I found myself standing next to the doctor who had been recently reanimated and restored back to health. It was late afternoon on the corner of a crossroad. I recognized the intersection. It was a spot where I had been hit by a car at age twelve. Standing there in the dream, I relived the accident in my mind. An impatient driver in a dune buggy, accelerating around a car in front of him that had come to a stop in the road. He jestered to the stopped driver as he passed, his attention being bought back to the road by a sudden impact at the front of his car.

I recalled the sound of an accelerating engine and looked to my left. I only saw a glimpse of the car’s hood as my body was viciously slammed down on its top. Witnesses said I had gone through the windshield then made contact with the rear roll bar. This flipped me into the air and deposited me two lanes over on the side of the road.

As the doctor and I stood on the corner where I first entered the road on my bike, I looked across at the place my body had landed. On that spot stood a book store. I could just read a sign on the door, “Closed after hours.”

We need to get in the bookstore,” the doctor said.

But it’s closed,” I told him, pointing to the sign on the door.

You have the keys. We can go over, and you can unlock the door,” he suggested.

I looked at the spot the store sat, remembering when I had awakened sometime after the accident, I could only open my right eye. A friend’s mother was over me saying something but either I could not hear her or maybe did not recall what she was saying. I felt numb all over and tilted up my head. She pushed my head back down holding me still but not before I had had a brief glimpse. Most of my left sides were covered in blood and bent in odd angles. I looked back over to her, seeing one of her hands covered in blood and wondering where she had gotten it. Things went dark until I came to later in the hospital.

Standing there, I thought about the hospitalizations, the surgeries but mostly the many months of healing, rehabilitation and learning to walk all over again. My biggest memory was the pain; it was always there. Some worse than others but it was many months before it crept out of my body.

I don’t feel comfortable going across,” I informed the doctor.

I know you don’t; that’s why I am here. I can help you,” he assured me. “But,” he continued, “it’s going to take a lot of courage and trust from you.”

I knew he was talking about surgery but could not fathom what he would be removing that would help me.

What needs to be done?” I asked.

You’ll need to be castrated,” he responded.

In shock, I looked at him hoping he was joking. He looked back at me sternly.

It’s the only way I can help you,” he said. “The removal is only for a short time and when things are reattached, you will be much better.”

I looked back to the store and all the memories of that day many years ago. I wanted to get to the store. However, fear overrode any of those wants, but I knew the doctor was right. He stepped away from me and toward a parked car. He opened the door and looked back at me.

We need to go now if you want my help,” he said.

I’m not sure, how long I stood there, but eventually I walked over and got in.

My next recall was stepping out of my car from the passenger side. My wife drove me from the hospital back home. I got out and walked down the driveway.

Are you Ok?” she asked.

I’m fine,” I replied. “It’s just a strange feeling not having anything down there,” I added. I was given orders to keep my strength up by walking around and doing my regular activities.

I’m just going to roam around the yard for a while,” I informed her.

I’ll be in the house if you need me,” she said.

She went inside, and I took a few slow walks around the house. I was not in any pain or discomfort; I just could not get over the empty or missing sensation of not having any male parts. My friend and neighbor, Tom came over to check on me.

How long before things can be reattached?” he asked.

Several months before the disease is gone, then a couple more to begin replacing things. The doctor assured me I would be good as new,” I told him.

You think it will be worth it?” he asked.

I believe it will,” I assured him.

Defining the dream;

I am having some anxiety about making more changes with expandurmind.com, because of the effort, time and money they will cost. In the dream my unconscious is the surgeon, someone whom I trust and take advice from.

Dismemberment has many meanings, one of which is the removal of habits. In my case, the habit is a fear which in the dream is a disease. Dissecting it will remove the fear then put things back together to a much better state than before. The surgeon explains the operation to me, in this case the operation is my site, time and money. Dissecting himself convinces me this is a good thing and should ease my tension.

Most of the time a dream crossroad is the decisions we have to make. I am sure a bit of that is true here. However, it is also where my habit of fear started. Through the pain and suffering experienced in my rehabilitation, people did their best to calm my fears. If pain became too much they stopped. If I was afraid of falling out of my wheelchair or not being stable on crutches, I was not pressured. I learned quickly to let fear guide me until it became a habit, keeping me safe and most of the time stopping me from taking unnecessary chances. This fear is valuable to me and not easy to let it go of.

The book store is my mind, and all my ideas sit inside lined on the selves. The store will remain closed until I unlock the doors. Fear keeps me from crossing into that spot. The surgeon still at my side, tells me the only way to make it to the store is through castration.

When it comes to the sexual organs, it’s not always about sex or the organ. A lot of the time it’s about energy, expression or the things we refuse to let go of, such as fear. The surgeon explains that it would only be temporary. If I allow myself to be castrated, “discard the fear” I can move across the street.

Once I get used to living without it, I can have it reattached. I took my surgeons (unconscious’) advice and went through with the castration. My neighbor asks me if it was for the best. I confirm it is, which gives me the answers I sought out. Break the habit and set the fear aside, let it become a tool to use not a habit to guide me.

Check out my website, http://www.williamtcarrolljr.com/

Sharp Pains

This dream is one of three I had this same night. I do not mention the names of actual people in my dreams unless I get their permission, in which case I use the term John Doe for men and Jane Doe for women. In some very rare cases, John Doe has to be replaced by a more suitable name for the person. The title is the closest I can come up with for an ex-employer without getting too vulgar.

Wife: “Did you dream last night?”
Me: “Yes, it was a nightmare.” Shivering as I said it.
Wife: “Was it that bad?”
Me: “Yes. I’m not sure I want to talk about it.”
Wife: “Can you give me a hint?”
Me: “Dreamed I was back working for “A Sharp Little Pain.”
Wife: “That is a nightmarish dream. Pray that one doesn’t come true.”


Friday, January 13, 2012; (Unconscious dreaming)
I was working, once again, for “A Sharp Little Pain”, which means this dream was a nightmare. I was somewhere out in a large muddy pit. The air was frigid and I was damp from a previous rain. There were several others among the crew I was in and we were trying to load a tool trailer. We had been getting screamed and yelled at all day by, A Sharp Little Pain” who as usual cared nothing for safety.

A Sharp Little Pain” was now screaming at us to get the tools put away, but to his satisfaction. If the tool was not laid just right, he would scream for it to be brought out of the trailer and handed to the next man to place it correctly in the trailer. “A Sharp Little Pain” was even going to the point of screaming if our boots were not clean when stepping into the trailer, a task that was impossible due to the mud.

One of the men on the crew came up with the plan of having two men take their shoes off while in the trailer and the rest of us handing the tools to them. At that “A Sharp Little Pain” went furious and began jumping up and down in the mud which splashed over us.

You don’t do the thinking here, I do!” he continued to shout and bounce. “No one is taking off their shoes unless I give the order!” he continued.

On the left side of the trailer stood, ‘A Sharp Big Pain’ who gave his son no feedback about how he was behaving. My mind boggled on how and when I had ended back up with these two. I was sure I needed the money but anything had to be better then this.

Who got mud on the side of my trailer?” ‘A Sharp Little Pain’ screamed, stomping the ground.

You did,” one of the men said. “You keep jumping up and down splashing in the mud,” he added.

Are you f*king crazy?” ‘A Sharp Little Pain’ screamed as he came around from the side of the trailer to the man. ‘A Sharp Little Pain’ got nose to nose with the man who was much bigger then he was.

You’re fired! You’re fired! Get your fat a** off my job!” The man looked at ‘A Sharp Little Pain’ then over to ‘A Sharp Big Pain’. ‘A Sharp Big Pain’ was larger then anyone else there and would protect his lunatic son. The man looked down and walked off the job.

What are you people looking at?” he shouted as he went back into his hysterics. “Why isn’t this trailer loaded? Get to work!”

The next thing I recalled was driving home. I was miserable from the cold and mud and more so with the thought that I had to go back to work tomorrow. My phone was on the seat next to me and began to ring. I answered the call and it turned out to be from my present employer offering me a job but only if I could start the next day. I gratefully excepted. Arriving home, I saw ‘A Sharp Big Pain’ was in my house waiting on me for some unknown reason. Entering the kitchen, I found him scolding an employee, one who had been with us during the day. I watched as the crewman stood there daring not to speak for fear of being fired. My spirit was lifted knowing I no longer had to go through the belittling from him or his son.

A Sharp Big Pain’ had yet to realize I was standing in the kitchen with him. I raised my voice just as loud as I could and screamed, “Shut the f*k up!” ‘A Sharp Big Pain’ jumped at the shout and turned to me, speechless. I pointed to the front door and added in a scream that would overshadow any bellowing he or his son could put out.

Get your fat a** out of my house! This is my house so don’t even respond, just get the f*k out!”

He closed his mouth and I led him to the front door. I held it open for him almost expecting him to hit me as he left. He did not even bother to look at me as he passed. I yelled a few more more expletives at him, informing him I would not be to work tomorrow. I then happily put everything I had into slamming the front door inches behind him. The slam woke me.

Check out my website, http://www.williamtcarrolljr.com/