2025-09-12, 10:22 PM
Drink me, I think or was it that pink thing that stinks? Confusion seems an illusion, yet my brain can't come to any conclusion. Did I do something to cause this? I'm feeling tired, or maybe, I'm dizzy or dazed. Did I fall and hit my head? For a moment, I'm sure I did slammed my head into a tree or a brick wall, or on concrete in a fall. Then, like I never thought that at all, I'm distracted by something furry. It gives me a great burst of energy, and I feel like I'm running.
No, wait, wait a minute, I'm on a ride at the fair, or maybe I'm just flying through the air? Shouldn't I care?
Yes, yes, I do care because I have to be somewhere. When, I wonder. “What time is it?” I ask, but nobody answers. “I better go,” I say, but then I wonder where it is I'm supposed to be. I don't even know where I am. “Who are you?”
“I'm the Gypsy...The acid queen...”
It's dark, and one of them barks. I'm afraid, but it's not the black of night that is giving me that fright. It's the thought of arriving someplace that I'm not supposed to be. Why won't my mind show me the place I know I don't want to go? “Shouldn't we have a key?” I ask?
“To tear your soul apart.”
“Stop singing,” I plead.
There is someone here, and now I have a great fear, oh dear. Something is near, I think, isn't that queer? Now I'm not afraid because I'm laughing at my mind for thinking in rhymes. Sensing a grasp, I gasp and ask, "Who are you?"
Bayard replied, "Welcome to my castle," and lit a candle without a flame.
The first thought that came to my brain was, my dog isn't supposed to be in the garden. Next, I was perplexed because gardens don't have walls, windows, and ceilings. I turn to the Gypsy, and in the bright light, she gave me a new fright. I don't know anybody with such a bush of wacky red hair or a top hat that reaches the ceiling. The room is too small, and I'm going to fall. Stop thinking in rhymes I demand of my mind, but that only brings on a fit that shakes my tits. My tits? “Where are my clothes?”
I look for the door but fall to the floor. I'm by a window that's as tall as the wall. Before I can jump, there's a scream which reminds me of a dream. “Is this a dream?” I ask the cat with the black hat. Please be a dream.
The thing in the hat isn't a cat, and Bayard is walking, which seems more strange than when he was talking. He's not a hound anymore, and the room isn't too small. It's huge. I yell, “Am I in Hell,” at the dog with a person's face, then realize he can't hear me, and he's not a dog anymore. It's a man-dragon.
"I have to go. I should never have come here!” I'm on my hands and knees, backing up. “Please, tell me how to leave!"
Nobody can hear me over the noise and the voices saying, “Do you think it's alright...He's had a few too many...”
The character with the giant red afro and the black hat is smiling. I tell him, “Yes, I think it's alright.”
My feet jam against the glass. It gives me a chill; then I get a thrill because I'm naked. I push my knees out and pull them up, smashing my cheeks against the glass. The abrasive carpet greets my face, shoulders, and chest. My tits bulge at my sides, crushed flat. The curve of my back is severe, pushing my butt up in the air.
The dragon is talking as he's walking, but all I hear is, “I'm...wicked...fiddle, fiddle, fiddle...”
I sense I should be afraid. The dragon is eight-feet tall, and his wingspan cast a shadow over me. Should I trust the monster and the Mad Hatter? I close my eyes and listen, trying to make sense of what's happening.
“Fiddle...bedclothes...nightshirt...you won't shout...fiddle about...”
My head might be spinning. Maybe I shouldn't have drunk the tea, I think, or maybe I have to pee. I don't know, and it doesn't seem to matter. Nothing matters when you're having a dream or even a nightmare. Something is behind me, but I don't care because nothing can hurt me in a dream.
Fingers are touching my cheeks, pulling them apart. I feel the tender tissue stretch. It feels nice, but I know that's not right. Open your eyes, I tell myself. Once they are open, you'll be in your bed, and you'll have an amazing tale to tell.
A warm breeze makes me coo, “Ooh.” As long as it's a dream, who cares, I think. Then I remember the time I was actually was peeing in my bed. I open my eyes and see clawed feet. That is a huge dragon, I tell myself, run, but I'm not afraid. I think I love him. Then I'm amazed by his superhuman genitalia. His cock is as long as an arm, and his swinging sack is packed with softballs sized testicles.
"Kill me. Make me your eternal whore." Did I say that?
The right side of my face is smashed against the carpet. Something hot, slick and slimy slaps down on my back. Smoke is blowing around my head. Fingers gouge into the meat of my ass. The dome of his cock covers my asshole like the fat end of a baseball bat. I think to say, take it away, but where else could it go? “Oooh.” Now I know, but I'm not sure why I agreed to it. Did I agree to this?
My pussy is being pulled open. The dragon roars and the carpet starts smoking, but it's my insides that are burning. I'm being split apart, all the way to my heart. I should scream, this isn't a dream, but when I open my mouth, I can't believe what comes out. “Oh, yes, yes, take me, take me, make me...”
Something warm is running down my inner thighs. Did he break or make me—The fire in my belly answers my question. He's driving his phallic scepter deeper and deeper. It's filling me and ripping me, crushing my internal organs. The vein throbbing shaft is going to kill me, or maybe I'm already dead. Yes, I must be dead.
The dragon's cock-head enters my throat. It's like vomiting up a handball. I look down over my nose and open my mouth to let him out. He's fucking me through and through. My jaw stretches painfully. His red dome bursts out—In-out, in and out it goes as he pounds me. Wham, he slams, swinging his massive balls. They slap, slap, slap against my stomach. His dick is swelling like a firehose filling with water. The dragon's sperm is surging through his ramrod and spilling out. It pools around my face to drown me. Then my hair catches fire when flames encase my head. Now I know I'm dead. I'm definitely dead.
Cathy Evans pulled a file folder from the cabinet, turned toward the receptionist and said, “Janis, send my ten o'clock in when she gets here.”
Janis nodded while dialing the phone. Cathy walked into her office and sat in a large, leather chair. Once she had her right foot tucked under her left thigh, she opened the folder on the red skirt stretched across her lap.
25 yr old, female.
Education: High School. Some college. Incomplete. States drugs and alcohol, “used liberally," during college contributed to not finishing.
Note-Substance use started in H.S. Currently doesn't drink or use drugs.
Reason for treatment: Reoccurring dream. Wakes up afraid to go back to sleep. Problem started years ago. She thought they would stop eventually, but they seem to be getting worse.
Client has never been treated for mental health issues. No family history. No military service. Does not suffer from depression. Does not hear voices. Has never had suicidal thoughts or a desire to hurt herself.
Family Structure intact. Two siblings, older sister, and older brother. Relationships are, “Good, were always good. We all got along great.”
Session notes, July 11, 1985.
Appearance: Medium-length blonde hair, fair skin, blue eyes. Cheeks are always rosy?
Disposition: Curious, pedantic, easily flustered, sweet, clumsy.
Clearly disturbed by dreams, but not yet prepared to give details or talk about the subsequent “disturbing” thoughts.
Requested she write down the details as soon as she wakes up, then go back to sleep. Write every time she wakes up from a dream.
Weekly visits.
Session notes, July 18, 1985.
Big smile. Eyes are tired looking.
Growing more concerned that the dreams will affect her relationship. Sometimes she wakes up screaming. Has never lived with anyone and worries she won't be able to. Dreams are increasing. Possible triggers: Seasonal, shorter days, relationship stress?
Claims dream is a bunch of strange, twisted up events, but she knows it's one continuous dream.
Need more details for analysis.
Admits to being sexually active in high school. First partner in H.S. She was vague. Almost resistant. No name or age given. Withholding or repressing?
Session notes, July 25, 1985.
Big smile, cheeks rosy, but dark rings under eyes.
Dreaming more often. Details: In water, the woods, a field, and a strange house. Scenes change frequently but maintains that it is one continuous dream. Thinks she is a little girl. There is dialog.
Still need more details for analysis. Still unclear if she is withholding or repressing?
Instructed her to continue writing the details as she gets them.
Session notes, August 2, 1985.
Dream: Teacup is empty. Has no idea who the other people are or if they're even people, but they are telling her things. She has a sense that she needs to get someplace or be somewhere important, but never finds out where. It's also possible that she is trying to get away from someplace or person.
None of that warrants fear. She seems reluctant to give all the details.
Possible connection with drug use and dreams?
Admitted being promiscuous in H.S. In college she had multiple partners at the same time. Heavy use of alcohol was not always involved. Seems to be trying to prove something or use sex as a coping mechanism.
***The client's disposition is inconsistent with my character profile. Still withholding or repressing details. Need to know the scary part that wakes her up.
Session notes, August 8, 1985.
Dream: Teacup isn't empty. They're not people, but they are talking to her. One of them has the face of a person but the body of an animal. Thinks that's what scares her.
She follows a rabbit through a small hole. The hole seems too small for an adult.
August 15, 1985, Cathy Evans, Psychologist Ph.D., sat across from a woman in a blue denim dress with bright yellow daisies on the chest. “I sense you are leaving something out. Is there a reason you wouldn't want to tell me all of the dream? You trust me, don't you?” Cathy asked. “It's important that you feel like you can tell me anything.”
“You're gonna think I'm crazy."
"No, I'm not going to think that,” Cathy said, firmly. “You came here for my help, and I want to help you through this, but I need to know everything to do that.”
"I know. I'm sorry."
“It's okay," Cathy said with an encouraging smile. "Why don't you walk me through the dream from beginning to end. Give me every detail."
"It's a little nuts."
"That's fine," Cathy said. "The meaning of dreams can be very elusive. Your brain is filled with billions of memories. It knows exactly how something felt, smelled, sounded and what you saw, plus the feelings and the thoughts and the emotions experienced. During a dream, two or more events can be twisted together."
"But I wake up thinking—It's bizarre. If anybody—I don't even want to think about it."
"I understand," Cathy lied. "It's important that you feel safe telling me everything."
"I do, Ms. Evans, I do."
"Good," Cathy said and picked up her pen. "Go ahead." The pen scratched on her pad.
"There is a rabbit."
"Is that what scares you?" Cathy asked.
"No, he's funny. The rabbit is always first; then there's a huge hedge. I go through it. I go through a hole that seems too small to fit."
"Does the hole scare you?"
"No. I think I know I should be afraid, but I go through anyway. Like when you're hitchhiking, you know it's dangerous, but you get in any way."
“Do you ever have the sensation that you're falling?"
"I might trip and fall. It's not clear. I'm dizzy, I think."
Cathy pushed her glasses up and said, “Keep going.”
Ten minutes later, Cathy reviewed her notes and said, "Alice, do you know what it sounds like?"
"Yes, of course," Alice said. “Alice in Wonderland. You think I'm dreaming about a fairy tale.”
“No,” Cathy said and put both feet on the floor. “Did you read that story when you were little?”
“Of course,” Alice said. “My name is Alice.”
Cathy leaned forward. “Did the story scare you?”
“No, not at all. I used to dress up as Alice for Halloween."
“There is a chance that as a young girl it might have been a little frightening. Then, if something happened later on while you were dressed up as—”
“No, no that's not it. Alice never sees a dragon.” The terror in the woman's eyes was tangible. “She doesn't get killed by a dragon. I get killed! I die every time I have that fuckin' dream!” Alice crossed her arms over her chest, grabbed her shoulders and hugged herself like she was freezing.
Cathy leaned back in her chair. “That's what scares you, then?”
“Yes, of course, I get killed by the dragon.”
“Why was it so hard for you to share that with me? We've been talking about this for weeks.”
Alice shook her head. “I don't know.”
“Was it too scary to talk about,” Cathy asked.
“I guess,” Alice said, loosening her arms. “It's scary, yes. I wake up when I know I'm dead. Isn't it really bad to actually die in your dreams? Doesn't it mean something bad is going to happen?”
“No, Alice, that's not true. People say that, but it's a myth. It can actually be a good sign. It might symbolize you're moving on from the past to something new. Do you think that could be true for you? Is there something in your past that you're trying to move away from?”
“I don't know, but I don't like getting killed night after night.”
“I can understand that.” Cathy scribbled on her pad. “You said you wake up when you know you're dead. If you know you're dead, aren't you still alive?”
Alice cocked her head quizzically. “Yeah, I suppose I am, I think. Maybe I'm dreaming in my dream and the dream is of me dying, but I know I'm dreaming. Does that make sense?”
“I know what you mean. I've woken up in a dream, too. How does the dragon kill you?” Alice shifted several times in the chair and looked around the psychologist's office. Cathy said, “You don't have to be embarrassed.”
“But I am,” Alice said. “It's embarrassing.”
“I understand why you might feel that way, but it's important that I hear everything if you want a good analysis of your dream,” Cathy said. “Maybe it would be easier for you to write the whole thing out like it's a story. Be as honest as you can and get every detail, no matter how insignificant it might seem. Pretend nobody is ever going to read it. And nobody ever has to. When it's done, you can decide if you want to share it with me. Do you think you can do that?”
Alice's head nodded. “Yes, okay, I can try that.”
“While you're writing, think about anything that might have happened to you. Anything that scared you. It's possible this dream is connected to an event in your life.”
Alice's head was still nodding. “Okay.”
“If you want me to read it, bring it next time, knowing you don't have to. Nobody ever has to read it.”
“Can I send it to you? You know, mail it.”
“If you think that will make it easier, then that's fine.”
“I'll do that, I think I'll do that.”
“If you find you're getting too upset, then stop...take a break. Call if you need to.”
“Thank you, thank you, I will.”
Cathy Evans said goodbye to the ashen-faced woman, then updated her chart: Alice made a breakthrough today. She told me something she had been holding back, but there is still more that she isn't saying. Likely suffered a trauma that her mind has turned into a monster in her dreams so she doesn't have to face the truth...
Five days later, at 9 PM, Cathy Evans dragged the back of her hand across her forehead and blew out a long breath. Alice's account of her dream was extremely detailed. Cathy spread the pages out on her desk, but before she started reading again, she opened her appointment book and blocked out the hour following Alice's next visit.
Cathy rolled her pen through her fingers; then stuck the end in her mouth, clinking it across her teeth as she started reading. “It's Halloween night, but I'm not going trick-or-treating. I'm too old for that. I'm outside with a friend...”
August 22, 1985
Cathy Evans looked up from her notes, gave Alice a reassuring smile and asked, “Did you listen to The Who?”
“I did, but my brother loved them and played their albums all the time.”
“Did you see the movie, Tommy?”
“I did,” Alice said. “My brother took me and my friend.”
“Did it scare you at all?”
“No, not at all.”
“Let's go back to that time in your life,” Cathy said. “Did anything major happen? Anything significant that you remember during that year?”
Alice shook her head. “I don't think so. Not anything that I remember.”
“Okay, how about the setting in your dream, does it represent something from your childhood? It's very important to establish connections between the dream and things that might have happened.”
“I think so. There was this place near my house. It was an old estate that all the kids said was haunted. You know how kids are. Nobody lived there. It had a tall fence around the property. It was a big spooky house with lots of woods near it. A lot of the time it was foggy in there. We always said it was because of the ghosts, but later we found out it was because the lake behind the house was warm, so when the air got cool it got foggy.”
“That's good, Alice, very good,” Cathy said and put a check mark on page one of Alice's dream. “Is there something else?”
“Yes, there was a huge iron gate. Two gates, you know, that open away from each other. And stone pillars next to them. It was overgrown with vines and weeds.” Alice shivered and said, “Above the gates, it said, Wonderland...and each pillar had a creepy creature on top.”
“A dragon?”
“Not a dragon, more like Godzilla and a wolf thing on the other one.” Alice put her heels on the edge of her chair and brought her knees up to her chin.
“Is there any reason that it might have been a scary place for you? I mean beyond the childhood folklore. Something traumatic?”
“I don't think so,” Alice said. “We stopped being afraid of it. We used to sneak onto the property. It was kinda the joke, you know, Alice in Wonderland.”
“Alice, you did an excellent job writing out the details of your dream. You mentioned going through a hole. Was there a hole that you used to get on the property?”
“Yes, a hole in the fence, but first we had to go through the hedge. It used to scratch me.”
“Could that be the small hole from your dream?”
“It could be.”
“If that's so, can you think of anything memorable that happened to you in there?”
“I wasn't allowed to go there,” Alice said. “My parents would have killed me if they caught me in there again.”
“They caught you at some point?”
“They found out. Me and my sister were talking about it. We went in there because someone dared us. My father told us never to do it again.”
Cathy noted Alice's protective posture. The woman was hugging her legs and rocking like an emotionally distraught child. “I assume you continued to go.”
“Yeah, yeah, I did, but not until a couple of years later when I was drinking and all.”
“Was that one of your regular hangouts?”
Alice shook her head. “Not regular, occasionally.”
“I assume by 'and all,' you mean drugs?”
“Unfortunately, yes, that's what I mean.”
“Alice, I've spent a good deal of time going through what you sent me and looking in my reference books. There is a great deal that suggests something happened to you and your brain has turned it into a dream. Can you think of anything?”
“Maybe, maybe there could be,” Alice said without looking away from her kneecaps.
“What do you think the teacup represents?”
Alice finally lifted her head. Her expression was defensive. “How should I know?”
Cathy made another check mark on a page of Alice's story without speaking, then she waited a minute before saying, “I'm here to help you, Alice, not to judge you.”
A defeated look settled on Alice's face. “Probably mushrooms. I did mushrooms. They made tea.”
“Is there one particular time in Wonderland that you think most likely corresponds to your dream?”
“Maybe, I guess.”
“Tell me about it.”
“There was this one Halloween, I was supposed to be with my friend, Ginger Snap, but she didn't want to go to Wonderland. She was afraid. I ditched her and went by myself. I knew there were people hanging out, but I don't remember who.”
“They gave you mushrooms?”
“I think so,” Alice said. “Maybe not at first, but later, maybe.”
“You think that could be represented by the teacup being empty, then having something in it?”
Alice nodded and tightened her arms around her legs. “I had never done mushrooms before, and I don't think I wanted them.”
“Did someone force you?”
Alice shook her head emphatically. “No.”
Cathy wrote on her pad. “There is a possibility that much of your dream is based on things that you think happened while you were—”
“Tripping?” Alice said.
“Yes, hallucinating. It can be difficult for your mind to distinguish between what you imagined and what happened. The two could be merging. Dreams are confusing enough without the effects of psychedelics.”
Alice's expression turned hopeful. “Is it possible I imagined the whole thing, and I'm just dreaming about a memory of an imagination?”
“I doubt it,” Cathy said. “We know you were there in Wonderland on a Halloween night, so that part of your dream is based in reality. Even when you're hallucinating, those hallucinations are related to your surrounding or something that is happening.”
“Oh.”
“Don't get discouraged. We're making progress. We've established important connections. Are you prepared to go a little deeper so we can separate real events from those fabricated in your mind?”
“I guess.”
No, wait, wait a minute, I'm on a ride at the fair, or maybe I'm just flying through the air? Shouldn't I care?
Yes, yes, I do care because I have to be somewhere. When, I wonder. “What time is it?” I ask, but nobody answers. “I better go,” I say, but then I wonder where it is I'm supposed to be. I don't even know where I am. “Who are you?”
“I'm the Gypsy...The acid queen...”
It's dark, and one of them barks. I'm afraid, but it's not the black of night that is giving me that fright. It's the thought of arriving someplace that I'm not supposed to be. Why won't my mind show me the place I know I don't want to go? “Shouldn't we have a key?” I ask?
“To tear your soul apart.”
“Stop singing,” I plead.
There is someone here, and now I have a great fear, oh dear. Something is near, I think, isn't that queer? Now I'm not afraid because I'm laughing at my mind for thinking in rhymes. Sensing a grasp, I gasp and ask, "Who are you?"
Bayard replied, "Welcome to my castle," and lit a candle without a flame.
The first thought that came to my brain was, my dog isn't supposed to be in the garden. Next, I was perplexed because gardens don't have walls, windows, and ceilings. I turn to the Gypsy, and in the bright light, she gave me a new fright. I don't know anybody with such a bush of wacky red hair or a top hat that reaches the ceiling. The room is too small, and I'm going to fall. Stop thinking in rhymes I demand of my mind, but that only brings on a fit that shakes my tits. My tits? “Where are my clothes?”
I look for the door but fall to the floor. I'm by a window that's as tall as the wall. Before I can jump, there's a scream which reminds me of a dream. “Is this a dream?” I ask the cat with the black hat. Please be a dream.
The thing in the hat isn't a cat, and Bayard is walking, which seems more strange than when he was talking. He's not a hound anymore, and the room isn't too small. It's huge. I yell, “Am I in Hell,” at the dog with a person's face, then realize he can't hear me, and he's not a dog anymore. It's a man-dragon.
"I have to go. I should never have come here!” I'm on my hands and knees, backing up. “Please, tell me how to leave!"
Nobody can hear me over the noise and the voices saying, “Do you think it's alright...He's had a few too many...”
The character with the giant red afro and the black hat is smiling. I tell him, “Yes, I think it's alright.”
My feet jam against the glass. It gives me a chill; then I get a thrill because I'm naked. I push my knees out and pull them up, smashing my cheeks against the glass. The abrasive carpet greets my face, shoulders, and chest. My tits bulge at my sides, crushed flat. The curve of my back is severe, pushing my butt up in the air.
The dragon is talking as he's walking, but all I hear is, “I'm...wicked...fiddle, fiddle, fiddle...”
I sense I should be afraid. The dragon is eight-feet tall, and his wingspan cast a shadow over me. Should I trust the monster and the Mad Hatter? I close my eyes and listen, trying to make sense of what's happening.
“Fiddle...bedclothes...nightshirt...you won't shout...fiddle about...”
My head might be spinning. Maybe I shouldn't have drunk the tea, I think, or maybe I have to pee. I don't know, and it doesn't seem to matter. Nothing matters when you're having a dream or even a nightmare. Something is behind me, but I don't care because nothing can hurt me in a dream.
Fingers are touching my cheeks, pulling them apart. I feel the tender tissue stretch. It feels nice, but I know that's not right. Open your eyes, I tell myself. Once they are open, you'll be in your bed, and you'll have an amazing tale to tell.
A warm breeze makes me coo, “Ooh.” As long as it's a dream, who cares, I think. Then I remember the time I was actually was peeing in my bed. I open my eyes and see clawed feet. That is a huge dragon, I tell myself, run, but I'm not afraid. I think I love him. Then I'm amazed by his superhuman genitalia. His cock is as long as an arm, and his swinging sack is packed with softballs sized testicles.
"Kill me. Make me your eternal whore." Did I say that?
The right side of my face is smashed against the carpet. Something hot, slick and slimy slaps down on my back. Smoke is blowing around my head. Fingers gouge into the meat of my ass. The dome of his cock covers my asshole like the fat end of a baseball bat. I think to say, take it away, but where else could it go? “Oooh.” Now I know, but I'm not sure why I agreed to it. Did I agree to this?
My pussy is being pulled open. The dragon roars and the carpet starts smoking, but it's my insides that are burning. I'm being split apart, all the way to my heart. I should scream, this isn't a dream, but when I open my mouth, I can't believe what comes out. “Oh, yes, yes, take me, take me, make me...”
Something warm is running down my inner thighs. Did he break or make me—The fire in my belly answers my question. He's driving his phallic scepter deeper and deeper. It's filling me and ripping me, crushing my internal organs. The vein throbbing shaft is going to kill me, or maybe I'm already dead. Yes, I must be dead.
The dragon's cock-head enters my throat. It's like vomiting up a handball. I look down over my nose and open my mouth to let him out. He's fucking me through and through. My jaw stretches painfully. His red dome bursts out—In-out, in and out it goes as he pounds me. Wham, he slams, swinging his massive balls. They slap, slap, slap against my stomach. His dick is swelling like a firehose filling with water. The dragon's sperm is surging through his ramrod and spilling out. It pools around my face to drown me. Then my hair catches fire when flames encase my head. Now I know I'm dead. I'm definitely dead.
Cathy Evans pulled a file folder from the cabinet, turned toward the receptionist and said, “Janis, send my ten o'clock in when she gets here.”
Janis nodded while dialing the phone. Cathy walked into her office and sat in a large, leather chair. Once she had her right foot tucked under her left thigh, she opened the folder on the red skirt stretched across her lap.
25 yr old, female.
Education: High School. Some college. Incomplete. States drugs and alcohol, “used liberally," during college contributed to not finishing.
Note-Substance use started in H.S. Currently doesn't drink or use drugs.
Reason for treatment: Reoccurring dream. Wakes up afraid to go back to sleep. Problem started years ago. She thought they would stop eventually, but they seem to be getting worse.
Client has never been treated for mental health issues. No family history. No military service. Does not suffer from depression. Does not hear voices. Has never had suicidal thoughts or a desire to hurt herself.
Family Structure intact. Two siblings, older sister, and older brother. Relationships are, “Good, were always good. We all got along great.”
Session notes, July 11, 1985.
Appearance: Medium-length blonde hair, fair skin, blue eyes. Cheeks are always rosy?
Disposition: Curious, pedantic, easily flustered, sweet, clumsy.
Clearly disturbed by dreams, but not yet prepared to give details or talk about the subsequent “disturbing” thoughts.
Requested she write down the details as soon as she wakes up, then go back to sleep. Write every time she wakes up from a dream.
Weekly visits.
Session notes, July 18, 1985.
Big smile. Eyes are tired looking.
Growing more concerned that the dreams will affect her relationship. Sometimes she wakes up screaming. Has never lived with anyone and worries she won't be able to. Dreams are increasing. Possible triggers: Seasonal, shorter days, relationship stress?
Claims dream is a bunch of strange, twisted up events, but she knows it's one continuous dream.
Need more details for analysis.
Admits to being sexually active in high school. First partner in H.S. She was vague. Almost resistant. No name or age given. Withholding or repressing?
Session notes, July 25, 1985.
Big smile, cheeks rosy, but dark rings under eyes.
Dreaming more often. Details: In water, the woods, a field, and a strange house. Scenes change frequently but maintains that it is one continuous dream. Thinks she is a little girl. There is dialog.
Still need more details for analysis. Still unclear if she is withholding or repressing?
Instructed her to continue writing the details as she gets them.
Session notes, August 2, 1985.
Dream: Teacup is empty. Has no idea who the other people are or if they're even people, but they are telling her things. She has a sense that she needs to get someplace or be somewhere important, but never finds out where. It's also possible that she is trying to get away from someplace or person.
None of that warrants fear. She seems reluctant to give all the details.
Possible connection with drug use and dreams?
Admitted being promiscuous in H.S. In college she had multiple partners at the same time. Heavy use of alcohol was not always involved. Seems to be trying to prove something or use sex as a coping mechanism.
***The client's disposition is inconsistent with my character profile. Still withholding or repressing details. Need to know the scary part that wakes her up.
Session notes, August 8, 1985.
Dream: Teacup isn't empty. They're not people, but they are talking to her. One of them has the face of a person but the body of an animal. Thinks that's what scares her.
She follows a rabbit through a small hole. The hole seems too small for an adult.
August 15, 1985, Cathy Evans, Psychologist Ph.D., sat across from a woman in a blue denim dress with bright yellow daisies on the chest. “I sense you are leaving something out. Is there a reason you wouldn't want to tell me all of the dream? You trust me, don't you?” Cathy asked. “It's important that you feel like you can tell me anything.”
“You're gonna think I'm crazy."
"No, I'm not going to think that,” Cathy said, firmly. “You came here for my help, and I want to help you through this, but I need to know everything to do that.”
"I know. I'm sorry."
“It's okay," Cathy said with an encouraging smile. "Why don't you walk me through the dream from beginning to end. Give me every detail."
"It's a little nuts."
"That's fine," Cathy said. "The meaning of dreams can be very elusive. Your brain is filled with billions of memories. It knows exactly how something felt, smelled, sounded and what you saw, plus the feelings and the thoughts and the emotions experienced. During a dream, two or more events can be twisted together."
"But I wake up thinking—It's bizarre. If anybody—I don't even want to think about it."
"I understand," Cathy lied. "It's important that you feel safe telling me everything."
"I do, Ms. Evans, I do."
"Good," Cathy said and picked up her pen. "Go ahead." The pen scratched on her pad.
"There is a rabbit."
"Is that what scares you?" Cathy asked.
"No, he's funny. The rabbit is always first; then there's a huge hedge. I go through it. I go through a hole that seems too small to fit."
"Does the hole scare you?"
"No. I think I know I should be afraid, but I go through anyway. Like when you're hitchhiking, you know it's dangerous, but you get in any way."
“Do you ever have the sensation that you're falling?"
"I might trip and fall. It's not clear. I'm dizzy, I think."
Cathy pushed her glasses up and said, “Keep going.”
Ten minutes later, Cathy reviewed her notes and said, "Alice, do you know what it sounds like?"
"Yes, of course," Alice said. “Alice in Wonderland. You think I'm dreaming about a fairy tale.”
“No,” Cathy said and put both feet on the floor. “Did you read that story when you were little?”
“Of course,” Alice said. “My name is Alice.”
Cathy leaned forward. “Did the story scare you?”
“No, not at all. I used to dress up as Alice for Halloween."
“There is a chance that as a young girl it might have been a little frightening. Then, if something happened later on while you were dressed up as—”
“No, no that's not it. Alice never sees a dragon.” The terror in the woman's eyes was tangible. “She doesn't get killed by a dragon. I get killed! I die every time I have that fuckin' dream!” Alice crossed her arms over her chest, grabbed her shoulders and hugged herself like she was freezing.
Cathy leaned back in her chair. “That's what scares you, then?”
“Yes, of course, I get killed by the dragon.”
“Why was it so hard for you to share that with me? We've been talking about this for weeks.”
Alice shook her head. “I don't know.”
“Was it too scary to talk about,” Cathy asked.
“I guess,” Alice said, loosening her arms. “It's scary, yes. I wake up when I know I'm dead. Isn't it really bad to actually die in your dreams? Doesn't it mean something bad is going to happen?”
“No, Alice, that's not true. People say that, but it's a myth. It can actually be a good sign. It might symbolize you're moving on from the past to something new. Do you think that could be true for you? Is there something in your past that you're trying to move away from?”
“I don't know, but I don't like getting killed night after night.”
“I can understand that.” Cathy scribbled on her pad. “You said you wake up when you know you're dead. If you know you're dead, aren't you still alive?”
Alice cocked her head quizzically. “Yeah, I suppose I am, I think. Maybe I'm dreaming in my dream and the dream is of me dying, but I know I'm dreaming. Does that make sense?”
“I know what you mean. I've woken up in a dream, too. How does the dragon kill you?” Alice shifted several times in the chair and looked around the psychologist's office. Cathy said, “You don't have to be embarrassed.”
“But I am,” Alice said. “It's embarrassing.”
“I understand why you might feel that way, but it's important that I hear everything if you want a good analysis of your dream,” Cathy said. “Maybe it would be easier for you to write the whole thing out like it's a story. Be as honest as you can and get every detail, no matter how insignificant it might seem. Pretend nobody is ever going to read it. And nobody ever has to. When it's done, you can decide if you want to share it with me. Do you think you can do that?”
Alice's head nodded. “Yes, okay, I can try that.”
“While you're writing, think about anything that might have happened to you. Anything that scared you. It's possible this dream is connected to an event in your life.”
Alice's head was still nodding. “Okay.”
“If you want me to read it, bring it next time, knowing you don't have to. Nobody ever has to read it.”
“Can I send it to you? You know, mail it.”
“If you think that will make it easier, then that's fine.”
“I'll do that, I think I'll do that.”
“If you find you're getting too upset, then stop...take a break. Call if you need to.”
“Thank you, thank you, I will.”
Cathy Evans said goodbye to the ashen-faced woman, then updated her chart: Alice made a breakthrough today. She told me something she had been holding back, but there is still more that she isn't saying. Likely suffered a trauma that her mind has turned into a monster in her dreams so she doesn't have to face the truth...
Five days later, at 9 PM, Cathy Evans dragged the back of her hand across her forehead and blew out a long breath. Alice's account of her dream was extremely detailed. Cathy spread the pages out on her desk, but before she started reading again, she opened her appointment book and blocked out the hour following Alice's next visit.
Cathy rolled her pen through her fingers; then stuck the end in her mouth, clinking it across her teeth as she started reading. “It's Halloween night, but I'm not going trick-or-treating. I'm too old for that. I'm outside with a friend...”
August 22, 1985
Cathy Evans looked up from her notes, gave Alice a reassuring smile and asked, “Did you listen to The Who?”
“I did, but my brother loved them and played their albums all the time.”
“Did you see the movie, Tommy?”
“I did,” Alice said. “My brother took me and my friend.”
“Did it scare you at all?”
“No, not at all.”
“Let's go back to that time in your life,” Cathy said. “Did anything major happen? Anything significant that you remember during that year?”
Alice shook her head. “I don't think so. Not anything that I remember.”
“Okay, how about the setting in your dream, does it represent something from your childhood? It's very important to establish connections between the dream and things that might have happened.”
“I think so. There was this place near my house. It was an old estate that all the kids said was haunted. You know how kids are. Nobody lived there. It had a tall fence around the property. It was a big spooky house with lots of woods near it. A lot of the time it was foggy in there. We always said it was because of the ghosts, but later we found out it was because the lake behind the house was warm, so when the air got cool it got foggy.”
“That's good, Alice, very good,” Cathy said and put a check mark on page one of Alice's dream. “Is there something else?”
“Yes, there was a huge iron gate. Two gates, you know, that open away from each other. And stone pillars next to them. It was overgrown with vines and weeds.” Alice shivered and said, “Above the gates, it said, Wonderland...and each pillar had a creepy creature on top.”
“A dragon?”
“Not a dragon, more like Godzilla and a wolf thing on the other one.” Alice put her heels on the edge of her chair and brought her knees up to her chin.
“Is there any reason that it might have been a scary place for you? I mean beyond the childhood folklore. Something traumatic?”
“I don't think so,” Alice said. “We stopped being afraid of it. We used to sneak onto the property. It was kinda the joke, you know, Alice in Wonderland.”
“Alice, you did an excellent job writing out the details of your dream. You mentioned going through a hole. Was there a hole that you used to get on the property?”
“Yes, a hole in the fence, but first we had to go through the hedge. It used to scratch me.”
“Could that be the small hole from your dream?”
“It could be.”
“If that's so, can you think of anything memorable that happened to you in there?”
“I wasn't allowed to go there,” Alice said. “My parents would have killed me if they caught me in there again.”
“They caught you at some point?”
“They found out. Me and my sister were talking about it. We went in there because someone dared us. My father told us never to do it again.”
Cathy noted Alice's protective posture. The woman was hugging her legs and rocking like an emotionally distraught child. “I assume you continued to go.”
“Yeah, yeah, I did, but not until a couple of years later when I was drinking and all.”
“Was that one of your regular hangouts?”
Alice shook her head. “Not regular, occasionally.”
“I assume by 'and all,' you mean drugs?”
“Unfortunately, yes, that's what I mean.”
“Alice, I've spent a good deal of time going through what you sent me and looking in my reference books. There is a great deal that suggests something happened to you and your brain has turned it into a dream. Can you think of anything?”
“Maybe, maybe there could be,” Alice said without looking away from her kneecaps.
“What do you think the teacup represents?”
Alice finally lifted her head. Her expression was defensive. “How should I know?”
Cathy made another check mark on a page of Alice's story without speaking, then she waited a minute before saying, “I'm here to help you, Alice, not to judge you.”
A defeated look settled on Alice's face. “Probably mushrooms. I did mushrooms. They made tea.”
“Is there one particular time in Wonderland that you think most likely corresponds to your dream?”
“Maybe, I guess.”
“Tell me about it.”
“There was this one Halloween, I was supposed to be with my friend, Ginger Snap, but she didn't want to go to Wonderland. She was afraid. I ditched her and went by myself. I knew there were people hanging out, but I don't remember who.”
“They gave you mushrooms?”
“I think so,” Alice said. “Maybe not at first, but later, maybe.”
“You think that could be represented by the teacup being empty, then having something in it?”
Alice nodded and tightened her arms around her legs. “I had never done mushrooms before, and I don't think I wanted them.”
“Did someone force you?”
Alice shook her head emphatically. “No.”
Cathy wrote on her pad. “There is a possibility that much of your dream is based on things that you think happened while you were—”
“Tripping?” Alice said.
“Yes, hallucinating. It can be difficult for your mind to distinguish between what you imagined and what happened. The two could be merging. Dreams are confusing enough without the effects of psychedelics.”
Alice's expression turned hopeful. “Is it possible I imagined the whole thing, and I'm just dreaming about a memory of an imagination?”
“I doubt it,” Cathy said. “We know you were there in Wonderland on a Halloween night, so that part of your dream is based in reality. Even when you're hallucinating, those hallucinations are related to your surrounding or something that is happening.”
“Oh.”
“Don't get discouraged. We're making progress. We've established important connections. Are you prepared to go a little deeper so we can separate real events from those fabricated in your mind?”
“I guess.”