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At the age of three I lost my father, I wasn't completely sure of the entire situation. I remember being in the hospital and the doctor coming out telling my family, "I'm sorry, but he ran from us."
Hearing that I thought he really ran away and I told the doctor, "He's my dad, he'll come back because he loves me." I was so clueless, then a couple months later, I was taken from my mom by CPS. At that age I didn't know what was going on, but as years passed I began remembering bits and pieces of my childhood, they would randomly hit me and I didn't know what to think of them. I remembered the reason why I was taken, I remembered that entire day. Being put in the back of the cop car, being taken to a center for kids like me, showering, and being told to wear the close they gave me. When I turned 14 is when my memory became very explicit, I would remember things down to what I ate that day, then this dream started to happen.
I woke up in my dream in a pitch black room, as I looked around all I saw was a heavy metal door with a small window, not more that 15 feet from me. I didn't think nothing of it except as a way out of this black space. As I started to get closer to it, I couldn't help but feel this excruciating amount of pain and sorrow. When I got up to the door I looked through the window to see a little boy in the corner curled into a ball. I knocked on the door to see if I could grab his attention, when he looked up I was shocked to find that he was me at the age of three. He, or my younger self, was crying and I could see the tears streaming down his face. I began trying to open the door but there was no handle or anything, I did everything I could possibly think of, I tried to kick the door down but it was too strong and as I stood there looking at him through the window, I couldn't hear him but I could see him hysterically mouthing the words, "Please, help me." I banged on the door and screamed and yelled for someone to help me get him out. It felt like hours that I would just scream and scream, begging for someone to come and rescue my younger self, I felt as though there was nothing I could do, I wouldn't give up, so I kept trying with no success. Only to be woken up by my adoptive family because I was sleepwalking, banging on the front door, and yelling at the top of my lungs. They worried about me, and put me in therapy to talk to a psychologist about these dreams and emotions. It didn't work though. At age 16 is when I discovered by myself, that every traumatic or life-changing experience that I've had, no matter how far back, was always the cause of my nightmares, my dreams, and my sleepwalking.
For six years I've continued to have this dream. When I was three, I was placed in a facility for kids like me, I didn't like it so every night I would sit in the corner of my room I was assigned and cry and whisper to myself for someone to help me, some nights I wouldn't have that opportunity because the older kids would come in and beat me up. I was trapped for so long, with this dream being so bad. Now it's not as bad as it used to be, maybe it's slowly fading from my memory, maybe I'm losing my memory, or maybe, just maybe.. I'm getting close to opening the door. God I hope I open it.