I was kidnapped by a psychopath and tortured

Date: 3/5/2020

I had this absolutely horrible dream that left me in a cold fucking sweat. If anyone’s reading this I think I should put some kind of warning cause it’s DARK. And trust me when I say that cause I’ve had some dark dreams but this might be the worst one. The dream started with me coming home from the hospital, heavily drugged. The medications they had me on limited by memory and my ability to think, all I knew was that something happened to me and now I was just absolutely fucked up. I’ll make a list of injuries/things that went wrong with me below, because it’s too much to just explain normally: -my eyes had been injured in this way that made everything blurry, like getting spots of water on a camera but worse -my lungs were just pieces of shit at this point and every breath was a struggle -my back was fucked up too, it hurt constantly and I needed some sort of brace to keep me standing upright -my feet sucked so I couldn’t stand for long periods of time, and the bottoms of them were bandaged cause they looked like hamburgers on the bottom -my hands were messed up too, and they constantly shook, I could barely hold things it was like I was old despite the fact that I’m 15 -in addition to shaking my hands were painful and slightly numb, like when your hands get really cold and you can’t move them (or barely can anyways) -my legs felt like I had just climbed a mountain and got tired way too easily -my throat was all messed up and this impacted me in two ways: one, drinking and eating felt like choking myself even with the smallest bites, so I could only really have soft foods and even then it was nearly impossible to eat a normal amount in a normal time; and two, talking and breathing were also incredibly hard. I literally couldn’t scream/yell, and I could barely talk above a whisper, which was super frustrating. If I tried to yell or even talk loud my breath would catch in my throat and just die, and I’d feel like I wasn’t able to breathe -I got violent headaches at random times -I got flashbacks of extreme pain through my body, where my body is remembering something happening to it but not my brain, so some random part of me would just hurt for periods of a time for no reason -I’d get shaking fits where I started shivering so violently I couldn’t do much but just sit and wait for it to pass -I was in pain everywhere constantly -my tongue was messed up so bad I couldn’t taste anything -I heard constant ringing in my right ear and sometimes I’d hear strange whispers in my left, which were apparently also from flashbacks Anyways, with this huge list of new problems I was kind of struggling at the beginning of the dream. But like I said, with the meds I was on I wasn’t able to think about any of it much, I couldn’t remember what happened yet cause the meds blocked my memory partially, and so I was kinda just doing my thing not really caring at all. I was outside on a hill after school playing with some friends when the dream started, but suddenly I had one of my shaking fits and ran over to my parents. They seemed tired of me for some reason and told me to sit down and rest, then gave me more meds. My mom and dad talked about me in front of me, like I was some dumb toddler who couldn’t understand them, although to be fair I almost was on the meds they had me on. I overheard my mom asking my dad, “why would she do those things to herself?” and my dad just shakes his head and responds somewhat broken, “I don’t know, honey, she wasn’t right in her head when she was doing them, remember?” I try to leave, since I’m kind of confused and starting to get this feeling of dread in my stomach. But my parents don’t let me out of their sight, so they end up taking me home even though it’s right across the street. I ask them what happened to me and why am I like this? They tell me that I ran away from home because I was sad and hurt myself, and tried to kill myself, and they found me took me to a hospital and now I’m here. I wonder how on earth I could bear to do these things to myself and don’t believe them. The days wear on and they start lowering my dosage of meds, and one day I’m completely off of the main medicine and that’s when I start remembering what happened. I get a flashback when I’m in the house and it’s awful. It’s like reliving it all over again. First, I’m in my bed, asleep. Then I hear a noise and wake up. I start to struggle as I see a man standing over my bed, wearing a hood over his face so all I can see is the shadows of a bit of stubble and a chin, and nothing else; before I can scream he’s shoved a mask onto my face and turned on the machine connected to the mask. It kind of looks like a machine I used to use for my asthma. But this one’s different. It pumps white gas onto my face and I accidentally breathe it in, and then my voice catches in my throat as my breaths are stolen away and my arms and legs go weak. I’m internally screaming at my body to move, to cooperate, but it’s like I’m frozen. My vision fades and the man’s hands reaching for me are the last things I see before I black out. I gasp as the flashback stops and I realize that everyone’s been wrong. They think that I ran away and did this to myself, but it must’ve been that guy. I run (or rather, walk as fast as my broken body will allow) outside to where my parents are sitting and beg them to come inside in the loudest voice I can manage- which is basically a whisper. They seem annoyed but then my dad says to my mom, “we need to get dinner ready anyways,” and my mom says, “I guess we can take her inside then.” I follow my dad inside, and I whisper, “it wasn’t me, listen, dad, I just remembered something about what happened!” but he brushes me off and continues walking to the kitchen, looking tired and annoyed the same way a parent will look when being pestered by a toddler. I try to raise my voice to yell after him but my breath catches as my lungs and throat fail to accommodate even a simple shout, and I feel tears sting behind my eyes as frustration and desperation mix. I keep trying to shout and even scream at him and I get confused when I can’t, and the angrier I get, the more tears that fall, until I’m sobbing without sound, just hitched breaths heaving from sucky lungs. I run up to him and try to grab his arm, slap him even, anything to get his attention so he can realize what actually happened. Finally he turns around with tired eyes and says, “I’m trying to make dinner, Ella,” and I say in the loudest whisper I can, “I didn’t try to kill myself, it wasn’t me! I just remembered!” There’s so much emotion, so much fear and desperation and grief and anger, that he HAS to believe me, or at least listen to me... at least that’s what I think. But then he sighs and shakes his head and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Yes, you did,” he sighs, “remember that time at Rockton, when you ran into the chainsaws? It was you then, and it was you who did this.” The memory (which was not an irl memory btw) flashes before my eyes when he mentions Rockton; I was playing with my brother and sister in this huge, indoor kids’ parkour course. One part of it had fake ‘chainsaws’ (they were soft rubber) swinging around on a wheel for kids to dodge. To be funny, I had run straight into them and then jumped into the pit, pretending to die while my siblings laughed, but my parents had been pissed. I grasp at my dad’s arm with shaky hands again as he turns, willing him to understand. “I was JOKING then, I was,” I say, and I try to say ‘playing around’ but it comes out too loud and my throat can’t do that so my voice catches again, causing more tears to rush from my eyes, blinding me even more than I already was, and he turns away and breaks free from my weak hold, shaking his head. Then my mom walks into the kitchen behind me and I go to her as fast as possible, shaking like a leaf and sobbing. She seems more upset to see me crying, but just like my dad she mainly seems tired. Broken. They both thought that I was completely gone, messed up. That i did this to myself. I had to help them see that I didn’t. “Mom, i didn’t do this to myself, I just remembered who did it to me,” I say, trying multiple times before I calm down enough to speak quietly so that my throat can actually transfer the words. Tears still drip from my chin, hot and heavy. My mom sighs and says, in a humoring voice, “yeah, and who was it?” I try to remember the man, and as I do so more memories flash back. I see myself in a bedroom of some dingy hotel room, tied up, having acid poured down my throat as I try to scream but end up making it bubble and burn my throat more, like my entire insides were on fire; I see myself sobbing and wailing and flailing against my restraints as he holds hot coals and sharp objects against my feet; I smell urine and shit and vomit all around me, and blood, and sizzling flesh, and something sickly sweet like perfume, that’s somehow even worse when mixed up with all of those other smells; I see him grinning widely as he drops something incredibly painful and burning into my eyes, see myself screaming even louder when I smell the coppery scent of blood and feel the hot, red tears running down my cheeks, staining my blouse even darker; I see myself completely giving up, just crying, not even screaming anymore as he beats me senseless, throwing weights on my legs and arms and neck and back, breaking every bone twice and three times over; I see myself scrambling and gulping down raw meat when he dangles it in front of my face, laughing as I strain my neck to try and reach it; and I see police lights flashing outside of the door, see him putting that mask with the gas inside on my face again, drugging me, then strangely, untying me and putting me on the bed, and placing the bottle he used to pour acid down my throat in my hand before leaving. I shudder and gasp and sob as the memories come back, but with them comes more information. I remember his face, and I remember one time seeing him come to the hotel wearing a shirt that had a name tag on it: his name was Micheal DiCourier. I gasp to my mom, through tears so heavy I’m afraid they’ll carve through my face, “it’s a man, he drugged me and took me and... and did awful things to me mom, I’m scared, and-“ I gasp and choke a few times as my voice rises and then my throat struggles- “and mom, he took me and did those things to me, it wasn’t me, I PROMISE, mom, please, believe me, PLEASE MOM!” The anguish and despair I felt when begging her to believe me was unreal. This man had taken me and ruined me, and I didn’t think I could bear it if everyone went around thinking I had done this all to myself. If that guy went around doing this to who knows how many other girls, and leaving them the same way, or even worse. My mom doesn’t really seem convinced, but she doesn’t shove me away, either. She sighs and asks, “what was this man’s name, then?” I know she’s humoring me, that she doesn’t believe me, but I say, “I saw him come back into the hotel room with a name tag that said Micheal DiCourier. Please mom, he poured acid down m-my thr-“ I gasp as my throat starts struggling again- “he hurt me mom, I swear it wasn’t me, please!” In response my mom turns away and goes to my dad, where they talk softly. I fall to the floor and start sobbing heavily, a feeling too heavy and too powerful, too giant to describe. I didn’t just want them to believe me. I NEEDED them to believe me. I was broken. But I didn’t break myself, and didn’t deserve to be treated that way. At the end of the dream I had one last flashback, of the police coming in and checking me. When they found me I started crying, and they assumed it was from the pain and put me immediately on meds. But it wasn’t from the pain; I had stopped feeling it by then, I had felt enough of it directly for a little bit of aching afterwards to bother me. No, I was crying from relief- all I wanted was to see my bed. My mom, dad, brother, sister. I wanted my cat. I wanted to be able to wake up and not be scared, I wanted to be able to eat a good meal and have a nice shower maybe, to brush my teeth and have my braces adjusted. To even just know what day it was. I wanted to read, to occupy my mind with something other than fear and pain. I wanted to see a face besides that man’s. I wanted to go home. And I was so happy that I was finally getting there. As the flashback ended, dream-self thought bitterly, “it never ended. I still wake up afraid everyday, imagining his face in front of my bed. I still feel the pain where he put acid in my eyes and throat and coals on my feet, and even the faces I longed to see think that I’m some sort of monster who did this to myself. He ruined everything for me.” Then the dream ended. I think it’s important to note that nothing even close to this happened irl? I have no idea where my brain came up with this but goddamn.