The Good, The Evil and The Perfect

Blarney Castle
My mother used to tell me that my memories were just dreams. That was one of her many methods she used to invalidate me. However, there is a fine line between dreams and reality. Our dreams have a way of telling us what is happening in our unconscious. The dream I had last night is case and point.

I was living in a castle with my parents. This castle was ancient. Only the stone walls barely stood. There was no roof and no doors. My parents were sorcerers. They mixed potions and used them to meet their needs. I spent much of my day attempting to replicate their potions. Even though I usually knew exactly what the potions contained, I never succeeded, because the potion ingredients would constantly change.

This dream represents many aspects of my childhood. An old and crumbling infrastructure with no privacy describes my home life quite well. The inconsistency of the requirements within my household was a constant source of frustration when I was a child. I wanted to be good. I wanted to be successful. But it just wasn’t possible.

However, the aspect of this dream that I examined most closely was my parents’ sorcery. I found it fascinating that I considered my parents to be magical in this dream. That judgmental part of me spoke up very quickly. “Why would I think they were magical? That’s stupid.” But honestly, why would I not think they were magical? I was a child. And children believe in magic. They believe a man in a red suit can travel the world in one night. They believe bunnies leave us eggs. And they are pretty sure their mothers have eyes in the back of their heads. My kids are very sure.

And because of my need to dissociate, I took the magical world to a new level. I would talk to stuffed animals and real animals. I had imaginary friends. I would search my natural surroundings for creatures like fairies and unicorns. I do believe all children do this, but for me, it was a survival technique. If I could not find meaning in the real world, I would find it in another world, a world I could understand, a world where evil did not exist, or at least never won.

And to be honest, unlike most parents, my parents were attempting to deceive me. They wanted me to believe they were all powerful. It was critical to their success in breaking me. If I thought there was even one small weakness, I would have used it to escape my situation. They knew that. I knew that. My entire childhood was one long conversation in which they convinced me they were perfect and all powerful. And they did convince me. Until I started my recovery, I was sure of it. How can you argue with perfect people? Even worse, how can you defy them?

Even after all of these years, there is apprehension about my separation from my parents. I have always felt that they would come after me in one form or another. Maybe they would make life difficult through other people. Maybe they would create confusion in my life. Maybe they would stalk me. Maybe they would attempt to hurt me. Honestly, these are very real fears because they have done all of these in my childhood.

But underneath all of it was this belief that they had more control over my life than is actually humanly possible. This belief that they are indeed magical, that they can impact my life karmically, has inhibited me in my own growth and recovery. It feels as though they are watching me even though they are nowhere near me. It is what paranoia comes from. And for me, there has always been a paranoia that runs my life from the unconscious.

So, I will work with this child part who thinks my parents are magical. When things go wrong in my life, I will work to understand them as a part of life and not the product of karmic punishment handed down by my scorned parents. The more I do this, the less I will feel overwhelming emotional responses to everyday inconveniences. I know my anxiety will be lessened through this integrated understanding.

It is interesting how the most morally vacant people on the planet work so hard to convince others of their power. They build up an amazing house of cards (or crumbling castle) to convince the rest of the world they are perfect in every way. And the children believe them. Because why would they lie? How else could they have known that? How else could they fool the entire world? And those same children spend a lifetime unraveling the real story from the web of lies. Some never do. But those that do come away with an amazing perspective. There is good. There is evil.

And neither side gets to claim perfection.

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15 thoughts on “The Good, The Evil and The Perfect

      • I really started my healing journey last year consistently as well as openly and being honest with myself sharing what I could.
        The perfection I associate with my OCD issues.
        I thank all for sharing as it helps a great deal with the healing process.
        Peace & be well to all.
        Happy as well as healthy healing as well.

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  1. I find your dream fascinating. I agree that they can be revealing. I’m understanding more about my dreams now and I know there are clues in their language and symbols. I find it interesting when you say that if your parents had shown any signs of weakness they know that would have helped you to see the situation for what it was, so they created an all-powerful persona…that resonates with me. Thanks for your insights.

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  2. We often think our parents get up early to put the sun in the sky because when we are little they do seem all powerful. I know I always thought my parents had all the power in the world. They certainly had all the power in my little world. Like you, I tried to escape, but I used books. I inhabited other worlds where parents didn’t hit their children through the books I read. For the first time, I realized what my parents were doing wasn’t the norm!

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  3. I really relate to the part where you searched your natural suroundings for creatures like unicorns. For a long time growing up I believed in unicorns. I believed their presence could only be felt by the pure of heart (sexually abused children.) When I was little I always had white hair and blue eyes and pale skin and my grandpa who was one of the few wonderful people in my life always said I reminded him of a blue eyed unicorn, so I figured if he talked about them they had to be real. I had a stuffed one I took everywhere when I was little. My daughter has one just like it now. I steal it sometimes on bad days when she is at school and I need a reminder that I had my grandpa until I was 8 he lived far away but my dad was great when he would visit. Thanks for sharing this it made my unicorn thing seem not so weird.

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  4. Pingback: It Must Be My Fault | Beating Trauma

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