Dreams of Giants

I keep wishing for things to change but I’m starting to think I’m not doing it right.  My body hurts and I try to help it but nothing helps, I try to love it, but it only seems to hate me in return.  I feel like my body is punishing me for being alive.

Did I ever tell you guys about the dreams I used to have when I was small?  Not the ‘regular’ dreams, but the ones with the giants?  My therapist had a hey day with that one, let me tell you.



I used to dream of giants.  I would wake up unable to move, trapped in a bubble that looked like plastic.  I couldn’t see through it but shadows and shapes could be seen; scary things I didn’t understand.  The lights were always bright white-hot and they hurt my eyes so every time I tried to look around I’d be blinded by tears and couldn’t see.  For some reason I wasn’t able to move or lift my arms so I couldn’t wipe the tears away.

At the top of my bubble prison there were several white rimmed holes that the giants would poke me though.  Their enormous hands would reach in and hurt me…poke things under my skin and no matter how I tried to cry, nothing ever happened.  I wasn’t even able to scream.

There were tubes and wires connected to me everywhere and machines made a racket beeping and whooshing all day and all night long.  They were the only thing that kept me company, those sounds.  One sounded a little like a heart beat and I used to fall asleep to it.

My favourite times were at night when it was dark in the world outside my bubble.  My eyes wouldn’t hurt and I could look at the ceiling through the holes in the roof.  If I could just manage to unwind myself, or untangle the wires, I though I could maybe escape through one of those holes, but every time I tried, I failed.

In one particular dream I had frequently, a giant came to my cage and stuck his gloved hand in the hole. He touched my face and his finger was rubbery and cold…it didn’t feel human at all.  Suddenly, the giant grabbed onto something that was in my mouth and pulled something from me.  I thought he was killing me as I felt something slippery come from my stomach all the way out of my mouth.  The moment it was out I hollered from the pain and, much to my surprise, a sound came out!  I could finally express my discontent!  I took a deep breath, opened my tiny mouth and screamed as loud as I could for my mom.

I was so scared.

My foster-mother would come when I had those dreams as a little one.  She thought I was calling her because I was scared from a nightmare, but really, it wasn’t her I wanted.

**My therapist thinks it’s a memory from when I was born.  I was born premature by three months (!!) and weighted 2 pounds 8 oz.  I couldn’t breathe on my own and some of my body parts were not yet fully developed so I was incubated under a sun lamp for almost 2 months before I was able to thrive on my own.  The plastic cage was the incubator and the rest is kind of self explanatory.

It amazes me, all that we can remember from life, even if we don’t know we remember it.

I wish today that my real mom was alive and I could call her up, tell her how much I love her and miss her.  (I love my foster-mother too, just in a whole different universe of emotion).  Thinking back to those dreams brings up a swell of feelings…makes me almost nostalgic for those times.  I think, in the end, it’s because my mom was still alive and there in heart, if not in person.  It was the only time I had with her.  I do miss her.  So much.


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About Grainne

My name is Grainne. This blog has been with me for years now and has served as a journal, a confessional, an outlet and a place for me to create and express my love of life. Thank you for stopping by and for becoming a part of this life long journey of mine. I appreciate every single one of you who takes the time to do so. :)

4 responses to “Dreams of Giants”

  1. ashlynsully says :

    So beautiful. Thank you for sharing

  2. KittyHere says :

    I have a friend whose mom and dad were both orphanage kids. The mom apparently was left at the orphanage by a French woman pregnant by an American G.I. during WWII. The story is that after giving birth the woman came to the U.S. To meet up with the father, but that did not work out and she decided to relinquish the child. Well, as my friends mom was dying, she (the mom) talked a lot about her biological mom and kept calling for her to come back and get her. Applying that story to your situation makes a lot of sense to me. There are memories in our gray matter than come out when we are in physical & mental distress. And you are quite the dreamer as you have had far too much physical & mental distress in your life.

  3. ~meredith says :

    What a moving view from a very tiny perspective, Grainne. This is such a beautiful post… and so hard to read, in a way. I believe your dreams are memory, too. Many people remember moments from infancy.

    xx best wishes, ~meredith

    • Grainne says :

      Thank you my friend 🙂 I actually find those memories somewhat comforting because it’s the only time my mom was really around. When my aunt found me she did tell me that my mom used to sit in the pediatric ICU beside my incubator and she would sing to me, in lieu of being able to pick me up and comfort me.

      That one floods me with joy. *hugs*

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