"A Recurring Dream" text over a white bunch up blanket.

Recurring Dreams

By Gena Sysavath
Web Content Contributor

Dreams are imaginative images that we create while we are asleep. They could go from something simple and cute to an anxiety ridden mess in your brain. Everyone has dreams but it is also likely that you cannot remember it. People sometimes are not able to remember their dreams simply because the brain might just be processing whether the information you created is necessary or not. 

A dream’s purpose could be: 

  • A representation of an unconscious desire.
  • Your brain processing and understanding what information you gathered for that day.
  • You, trying to talk out your issues with an internal psychotherapy session.

Nightmares are negative dreams that can be caused by stress, PTSD, fear, anxiety, guilt, illnesses and sometimes medication. These images in your state of unconscious mind can occur at any age. You might want to take note of the ones you remember, and you might discover something new about yourself. 

What is a recurring dream?

A recurring dream is a dream that you have over and over again. The dreams tend to follow a type of theme and would slightly change as a person gains a new understanding of themselves and the problems they were facing.

It is often that a recurring dream appears because there is an obstacle that needs to be dealt with and the anxiety-based dream can repeat itself until the waking task is finished. They appear mostly during a time of stress or change as it is a way for a person to cope with what is going on around them.

This is the recurring nightmare I had when I was 5.

I can still remember this nightmare so clearly because of the amount of time it appeared when I was just a child. When I was younger, I practically grew up on television and PBS Kids would be one of the few channels that kept my attention.

In my nightmare, as I was innocently watching the show, the pink-haired winged Muppet would come crawling out the TV, The Ring style. This winged freak holding a knife and laughing menacingly. You bet your buttocks that I ran away screaming.

As I ran out of my room, screaming for my parents at the top of my lungs, I started to realize that I was running for a long period of time. The hallway of my very small house was stretching to the point that I could no longer see where my living room was. At this point, the pink Muppet, wielding her knife, was inches behind me.

Her screeching voice begins to repeat: “Do you want to play with me?”

No. I did not want to play with the creepy puppet that was threateningly chasing me across my house. Instead, I slammed my way into my parents’ room, hoping that my parents were somehow in there. Sadly, to my very fragile and very young heart, I came to the realization that my parents were not going to be able to save me. Why? Because they were nowhere in sight. What type of parents would leave their barely out of toddler stage child at home, alone? My nightmare parents, apparently.

Now, it was endgame for me: I have no parents to help me and there was a knife wielding monster chasing me. What am I to do? I ran into the bathroom, where I met the very wise and interesting character that is Elmo’s fish. A glorious light to a scary time, as I locked the door behind me and listened to the she-demon trying to break it down.

“You must have her come in…” This fish must have been crazy if he thought that I would allow her in. “…and then flush her down the toilet.”

Okay, so maybe this crazy fish had a point, because if I flushed her down the toilet, she would be gone. Hail almighty, my five-year-old mind decided to follow this random fish’s advice, because I was a good child who followed the directions of adults.

Of course, the task was not that easy, because the moment I unlocked the door, the bathroom began to enlarge itself — and guess who was still the same exact size? You guessed it. Me. I am very proud of you for realizing that.

I was now stuck on the floor of my parents’ bathroom with a murderous princess puppet still after me. So, what do I do? I climbed up my parents’ cabinet — I already made it this far, I can’t die now. I climbed and climbed until I made it to the very top, where I faced my final problem: how was I supposed to make it from the sink top all the way to the toilet?

By jumping.

The Muppet was still right behind me, following my every move. When I jumped, she jumped. However, this pink-haired demon did not calculate one thing; I had a magical fish on my side.

As I leapt across to the toilet seat, I landed safely on the edge of the flush handle. Pinky was tossed right into the toilet after a huge goldfish rammed into her. Hopping on that flush handle and watching the knife wielding puppet head to the sewer was a victory that was not needed, because it scarred me for the rest of my life.

I had this dream on at least six different occasions, and I still remember the look of the pink demon glaring up at me as she swirled her life away down a giant toilet. I wonder what kind of young anxiety I was having to create this monstrosity, but it is over now, and I won. 

Also, if you were wondering, yes: I still dislike all puppets, dolls and everything in between, because they’re creepy.

Featured image by Gena Sysavath.

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