Did you know that the dreams you have during puberty have more meaning than the dreams you have as an adult?
I told this story to a friend, who told me the above.
When I was in junior high school, I had a series of dreams for four nights in a row.
＜The first night.
I was irrationally angry and decided to kill my mother.
Just thinking about my mother made me tremble and cry.
If I don’t kill my mother, it will be hard for me to live. She is ruining me.
I felt it in my dream.
(By the way, my mother and I did not hate each other in real life!
I have been scolded for my rebellion, but I have never felt such hatred that my body trembled as in the dream.)
<Night two.
Plan to murder my mother. Late at night, I plan to murder her at school.
At what time, how to call my mother, how to kill her…
I was very specific and planned it in my dream.
These dreams, two nights in a row, were so real.
I remember that I was very scared because I had flashbacks of hatred, frustration, and even warrior’s trembling until I woke up in the morning.
What was even scarier was that these dreams were continuous.
<The third night
Finally, the day before the murder.
During the daytime. I casually talked with my mother and asked her about her mood and condition.
Seeing my mother laughing at my jokes, I feel a little bit of love…or pity…or something like that, and I become sad.
However, as long as she is alive, she is bound to do the same thing to me over and over and over again.
For her, apart from these fleeting moments of pleasure, living is a painful reality. It would be better to die.
At night, it was time to execute the plan.
I headed to the school with a shovel, towel, plastic, and rope (plastic rope for moving).
I told my mother the contents of my dream up to this point on the morning of the fourth night.
Even in the night when I was carrying my luggage, the white breath, (it was winter at that time) the sadness and pain that made my heart ache, the pain in my chest, the pain in my heart.
All those things were so real that I was afraid that I would really kill my mother.
When my mother heard my story, she laughed and said cheerfully, “Have we had any fights lately? I was a little relieved.
Why would I want to kill my mother like this? Why did I want to kill my mother like this?
But as night fell, I felt the “reality” of the dream looming over me.
I listened to late-night radio broadcasts and tried not to fall asleep.
I apparently fell asleep after all, and woke up the next morning without dreaming.
I left my room feeling better than I had in a long time, and the house was kind of a flurry of activity.
My father was on the phone and my mother was sitting stunned next to him. Or, rather, she is sitting down.
I asked my brother, who seemed to have woken up earlier, “What’s wrong?.
He said, “I don’t know either, but apparently someone upstairs was killed.
The boy from that family came to the house in the morning and told the mother that he had killed his father.
My mother is a live-in caretaker of an apartment building, so the child apparently came to inform my mother, the caretaker.
So, my mother sat down and my father took the child upstairs.
He saw the dead body, and with a pale face, called the police.
An ambulance? I didn’t call for an ambulance! He’s dead!
Huh? I have to call it even if he’s dead? ! What are you talking about!”
…The house was in chaos.
The family upstairs had a mother who had evaporated (destination unknown) and a father who was a drunk.
They had a classmate of the brother who had killed that father, and a sister three or four years younger than him.
My friend says that during adolescence, quite a few kids dream about killing their parents, etc.
But if I was synchronized with him (the murdered child)
I felt really sad that he felt so sad and painful.
