Weird dream: dead woman in my parents’ garden
Dream: I was in a house that was familiar but didn't recognize. Things were happening that I don’t remember, but it was chaos. Earlier I had looked out in the front yard and seen a woman lying on the ground. I was thinking that was kind of odd and “not alive” came to mind, but not “dead” either. Towards the end of the dream I see the same woman again only this time she was moved to the garden which was along the side of the house. This time I knew she was dead because her skin was pale and waxy. Strange thing is she wasn’t lying in the dead pose one often see on those CSI or Law & Order shows, but like she was lying on a sofa reading a book. I freaked out and tried to call the police but wasn’t able to find their number in the phone book. By now I recognize the desk I was sitting on while looking through the phone book as the desk shared between my parents and that I was back in my parent’s home. I thought about calling 911 but was afraid a dead woman in my parent’s garden wasn't serious enough for 911 (how messed is that?)
I woke up freaked out and desperately wanted this dream to disappear from memory like most dreams do. Then I thought about how our pain in the eyes of Narcissists is minimized and dismissed at best, enjoyed by them at worse. Like the dead woman lying in plain view in the garden wasn't serious enough to call 911, our pain wasn't enough to warrant attention or protection according to the rules of our Narcissistic parents.
The dream didn’t disappear from memory and I kept seeing the dead woman in the book reading pose. Then I thought …. what if she wasn’t really dead, but playing dead to avoid detection or attention of my parents?
I often tried to make myself invisible to my parents even though I craved their attention. If they can’t see me then they can’t see all my flaws (their projections) and be vastly disappointed in me. Bree had too much attention from our parents but she was still invisible, probably more than me, because she was there only to serve a purpose. Sis and I are very different in personality, which is probably why we were targeted for different roles and labels. One of the few things we have in common is the love of reading. Grocery shopping is just an excuse to stop by their minuscule book section and read one chapter of a book, put it back, return next week to read another chapter before finishing grocery shopping. Reading books was virtually the only thing we weren't criticized for so it kind of shielded us from our parents’ relentless psyche shredding. They have no problem grabbing food from our hands and throwing it in the trash so they have our undivided attention while screaming at each other (fighting parents always seem to need an audience), but I never recall having books slammed shut in front of us and taken away. A few times we got yelled at while reading a book but those were pretty rare events. Of course it didn't stop them from arguing and fighting around us while we’re reading or having violin lessons (my poor teacher moved us to the basement to get away from them), but reading a book seemed to guarantee the highest probability of not getting criticized, belittled, and mocked in the face by the ever loving mother.
So I’ll go with the interpretation that the dead woman was playing dead while reading a book in the garden. I love my house that I've fixed, renovated, and painted, but I would still leave to go outside and find a public garden space to settle down and read a book. It used to be the Abraham Lincoln biography Team of Rivals, but these days it's the massive analytical report from work.