The dying girl…no Dada…

Sorry, it’s been a while since my latest blog post. I’ve had a somewhat interesting week, very roller-coastery and head has taken some interesting/frightening/upsetting/exciting/amazing journeys, with the help of my friends… but anyway, I’m here…I’m back…hello hello hello, how are we all?

I had an odd dream last night (here we go) that seemed to last for hours. It was actually remarkable I could dream at all because I appear to have been not entirely sober…aha.

Anyway. I think I’m going to share the dream, because I’d be interested to hear people’s thoughts….

I dreamt that a young girl arrived at my house. Except it wasn’t my house – I didn’t recognise the house, but seemed to know it was mine. She was very weak and dying, and somehow I knew she didn’t have long to live. She asked me for help; to find her some help and to help her onto the sofa. I helped her onto the sofa but for whatever random reason I didn’t take her cries for help seriously at all. I fiddled on my phone, with a vague pressing feeling that I should do something to help the dying child, and yet I was unable to take it seriously. She lay there growing weaker and weaker, whispering for me to help her, with soft tears rolling down her cheeks.

At some point, she passed out. Suddenly, I took it seriously. I rang the emergency services but they said it wasn’t an emergency, and didn’t believe me that I had a dying child to deal with. I ran out of the house, panicking now and terrified that I’d left it too late – why had I not taken it seriously?? I ran and screamed but nobody else was taking it seriously either. I found someone who looked like a paramedic and told her the situation. She glanced at her watch and said she wouldn’t normally help, but this time she would. I felt relieved, but watched in horror as she slowly and lazily packed her bag, insisting on eating first, and telling me I was wasting her time. There was no way she’d get to the girl in time.

I ran back to the house, and my friend appeared next to me, also running. “What’s up?” she asked. I said “there’s a girl dying…she’s going to die on my sofa and nobody is taking it seriously.” My friend took my hand and said that she did, and we ran to the house, the paramedic long behind us.

Back at the house the girl was now even tinier, and her breathing laboured. She looked on the verge of death. Suddenly, she whispered “where is Da da?”. “Not here” my friend said, trying to put water to her lips.

Miraculously, the little girl seemed to wake up a bit. “No Dada?” she said, a little stronger. I was stil frantically looking for the paramedic. My friend confirmed that there was no Da da coming; that only people here would help her and that she took her pain seriously and wanted to help.

The dream ended there.
I woke up, and cried like you would not believe.

Yesterday I sent the letter to my dad I wrote weeks ago – the one formally cutting off all contact for good. I began to realise during the week how horrific my past was and that I didn’t deserve it, and that I should take seriously how I feel and pay attention to myself when I’m struggling. I wonder if this was that showing itself in a dream…



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