"The dream began in my childhood at the home of a classmate An Huan, and my mother sent me to the same school and said to Aunt Liao, this child should live in your house. Aunt Liao agreed without hesitation, and my mother disappeared.

Suddenly added a new population, and life was also very poor, I, An Huan, and An Ren were all wearing tattered clothes, and they were all around the stove and staring at the pot. Aunt Liao was making my favorite scrambled eggs with tomatoes, and I looked at the eggs in the pot that were getting fewer and fewer. The corners of his mouth were unconsciously curled, and he felt very satisfied.

Then, in the school playground for physical education class, Wu Yang, Zicheng, Lei Teng and some boys with unclear faces. The physical education teacher was replaced by my homeroom teacher F in my first year of high school. He let us move around freely, and then he was with one of his colleagues (honestly, I didn't know him. I've just heard of it, I've seen it) slapstick. I was twisted around my neck and screamed uncomfortably.

There are still a few minutes before class ends, and Wu Yang wants to skip class and leave early, I don't agree. But we actually implemented a card-type access control system in class, I looked at the watch showing that there were still five minutes, Wu Yang, who has always been a good girl, swiped the card without any scruples and ran out, and I was uncharacteristically patient waiting for the coming five minutes.

Then, I was walking home alone, and when I got to the door, I met a man. This man was very familiar, and I vaguely felt that I had a strong love for him, but I couldn't tell who he really was.

Vaguely, I heard a voice from the bottom of my heart that was my mother's ex-husband (this dream is contrary to the truth, because my parents have never been divorced), it can only be my dad, or my first boyfriend Ah Jun, who is holding a little boy who is more than five years old, and the little boy is looking at me with a pair of watery eyes and a smile.

The man said, "I committed a crime a long time ago, and I was exposed, and this time I can't escape, and now I will suffer from 18 years in prison." But his hard-working child, with no one to take care of him, hopes I can take it back.

The little boy didn't know that he was going to be separated from his father, and he still looked at me stupidly and smiled, like a peony flower in April, warm and full of joy.

It was November, and it was very cold, and the little boy was still smiling at me in an old single coat, which made me feel sorry for me.

I squatted down and took his little hand and told him that when I got home, someone would buy you new clothes. He jumped and jumped happily ahead of me.

On our way home, I don't know why we climbed over a wall, and he climbed up and fell down with a "Peng"?

"What do you think this dream means to you?" Teacher L asked tentatively.

"I don't know."

"Have you seen Freud's The Interpretation of Dreams?"

"I've seen it."

"Can you tell us about your understanding of his book?"

"I don't remember what I said."

"Then let me tell you first, see what you can remember?"

"There is a very classic hysterical case in it, two sisters who are snuggling up to each other, the younger sister is obedient to the sister, and her own marriage is also the man that the sister fancies, but the marriage is not very happy. My sister's first child died of illness, and she was also very saddened.

Four years later, her sister had a second child, but she dreamed that her little nephew died. The famous psychiatrist Furd said that you are not cursing the child to die, you just want to see the man you like. ”

Mr. L's talk about Freud's "The Interpretation of Dreams" made me feel like an enlightenment and suddenly realized. Not only did I read Freud's The Interpretation of Dreams, but I read it three times when I was in college.

The first time I saw on the shelves in the library when I was a freshman in college, it seemed that I had always done things by feeling, including reading books.

The second time was in my junior year, when I only had an impression of Freud's "The Interpretation of Dreams", but I didn't remember the content. Once when I was riding a bus home, I met an outgoing and cheerful male student on the bus, and when I told this story, I only remembered it, but I couldn't say it.

So I saw it at the bookstall and felt that I had to own a good book, so I bought it and took it home to read during the summer vacation.

The third time was when I dreamed not long ago, because I often found myself in strange and clear dreams, and I read Freud's "The Interpretation of Dreams" e-book again.

But when Mr. L asked a question, I didn't talk about it, I read it, and I watched it three times, I just said that I had seen it. Come to think of it, my memory is still blocked and not opened.

After he told the story, my brain started to come alive. The atmosphere in the consultation room gradually became harmonious, and I was very cheerful and talked a lot that day.

As for what I talked to Mr. L in the counseling room, I was too emotional at that time, so when I returned to the dormitory, I did in-depth processing on the understanding of the symbols of the characters in the dream, forming a single-line cup story. Now there is no accurate content in my memory.

It felt like the counseling room that I thought was familiar and intimate had become a trash can for my inner confiding, and I could throw all the unpleasant memories into it and never have to remember them.

Five years ago, I tried to tell the story of this cup. But I don't know how to tell it, and I seem to have written myself into the miserable world of Valjean, but in this way, what is the point of suffering that I have endured?

Why is it that I have read so many literary books, but I still can't write touching stories, and I still can't live this life. I think of a famous person who once said, because literature is too sick and weak, and it has been the diseaseless moan of literati since ancient times. In fact, you don't know the psychological process behind him.

We are always keen to care about the eating, drinking, lazing and trivial things of celebrities, but we have to look at the surging hearts of ordinary people, but we are still crowded in these ordinary people.

And I just want to say that the words that come from the depths of my soul, my own words, are warm and powerful.

I used to think that a grand gesture could not save a small heart, but how much I wanted to save it, and now I have finally done it.

Then, I overcame the narrative barrier.

"The dream began in my childhood at the home of a classmate An Huan, and my mother sent me to the same school and said to Aunt Liao, this child should live in your house. Aunt Liao agreed without hesitation, and my mother disappeared. ”

An Huan was the first friend I met when I signed up for the first grade of the primary school in the neighboring village. The first time I saw her, her broken right hand was hanging from her chest, and the teacher jokingly told her, "My hand is not good yet, because I don't want to do my homework." "During the conversation, I learned that when she was in kindergarten, she accidentally fell off her own earthen kang and broke her arm.

That year, she became a very good friend to me, and then because of the multiple school transfers, the relationship became a lot weaker. I haven't seen her since she dropped out of high school in my freshman year.

Dreams awakened some unbearable memories deep in my brain. In that year, good deeds were judged by pentagrams, and naïve us longed for many pentagrams all day long. Once, the teacher gave us an assignment, and when we went home, we asked our parents to sew up the two used flashbooks, and if we sewed them well, we could get a five-pointed star.

And my pentagram is at the top of our class, and this time I am not far behind. I pinned my hopes on my mother, and I hoped that she would sew me so that I could get a five-pointed star. However, when I asked my mother to sew a notebook for me, my mother said coldly, "I don't have long hands, I sew it myself." ”

That year, I was eight years old, holding a needle in my left hand and threading a needle in my right hand, and I poked three holes in two notebooks with difficulty, and the tied thread still slipped away. Then I asked my eldest sister to help me sew, because my classmates came to the house to wait for her to go to school, she was busy cleaning herself up, and she didn't have time to take care of me, but her classmates gave me a few stitches very leisurely, saying, "In fact, I never use needlework at home." ”

Even if it was sewn, I went to An Huan's house with joy. Huan's mother's stitches are very neat, like the shape of the teeth of the city wall. For the first time, I deeply experienced envy, and I was envious that An Huan could say to her mother, "This is the task assigned to you by the teacher." "It's for a five-pointed star."

An Huan's mother was very supportive, saying, "I'll sew it for you." ”

Ah Huan looked at my notebook, and she asked, "Did you sew it?" I nodded timidly, contradictory, like the brown sugar that my mother put on the top of the cabinet to eat, not sweet and slightly bitter, I wanted to eat but was cautious of being afraid of being discovered, and I had mixed tastes.

An Huan said, "It's not good-looking at all." An Huan's mother scolded softly, "An Huan, you see that most of the people sew by themselves like you, how well-behaved!" ”

I was praised for no reason, which made me feel deeply remorseful. Just now I was still thinking of my mother's refusal in my heart, and I was envious. Now I am praised for it.

What's going on? What is the only thing that an eight-year-old brain can't figure out? It's obviously not as good as her sewing, but she can also be praised. I didn't sew it myself, but I didn't know how to say it, so I just bowed my head, and I was so honored that I was grateful.

But no one is good, after all, no one is good, which means that An Huan can get a five-pointed star, and I can't get it. What the pentagram means, a lot of praise and praise, everyone who enters the classroom can see it.

And I remember, on the first day of the first grade, when my dad sent me to school to register, he looked at the five-pointed star list left by the previous students and said, look at how well those students performed in school, and if they got more than a dozen five-pointed stars, you should also perform well in school. ”

So, getting a five-pointed star was my only purpose in first grade. For this reason, I am willing to do anything that can get a pentagram. I secretly pulled the thread hard, and then asked Ah Huan's mother to re-sew it for me, and she happily agreed, so I was praised for being in An Huan's light and got a five-pointed star.

It didn't take long for the parent-teacher conference to be held, and when my mother came back, she scolded fiercely: "White-eyed wolf, whoever sews a book for you will call someone's mother, go to someone else's baby..."

My heart felt like I had fallen into the abyss, I had deeply experienced the betrayal of adults, my mother's words were like a sharp weapon inserted into my innocent heart when I was a child, my world was painted with a layer of gray, and the pentagram was like a thorn deep in my heart.

After so many years, I am accustomed to thinking about problems with a single line, but there is still no progress. The nerves of the brain follow the established pattern, and it is many years before they realize it. Like this question, I tried to make it clear with a whole thing, but it pale in comparison.

Why did I dream that my mother sent me away, there was no sadness but a long-awaited desire that had not been fulfilled.

This has to start with the old man who is still alive, my father and brother have not yet separated, my uncle and aunt gave birth to a third son, and not long after my mother also gave birth to me, a third girl.

That year was in 1991, when there was a lot of talk about family planning, there was a very popular slogan at that time: if you lead it down, you must not give birth, and if you can't run, you can't hide, and you can't do the four techniques. The old people sighed one after another: This group of sheep children is a disaster.

Finally, the old man who became a wife disliked his daughter-in-law's stomach and was not angry, and he was counted all day long, and he spoke coldly, so that this woman who had not yet come out of confinement to work in the field was determined to give birth to a son.

I heard that a couple from a neighboring village had two sons who wanted a girl, so I asked an intermediary to introduce them, but I was not yet a year old. They came to our house to pick up the baby, I cried for some reason, and my dad was sad for a while, and carried me home again. The following year, my mother gave birth to my brother.

Growing up, my mother often involved me in her suffering and loneliness, and when I made a mistake, she would accuse and abuse me if she didn't get along, and she would make jokes about me giving it away, until I cried and laughed and said, "Just kidding, why can't you eat it?" ”

"Without me, this family would be very happy." I was often trapped in her sad world by such a voice of guilt and self-reproach, sharing her anger at that time. I can't escape, so I have to stay away from her after work. That's what I really thought.

After many years, I didn't have the ability to appreciate love, and I didn't know how to love someone. It was as if I knew at the time that I could not save myself. But I often think that it would be a good thing if I gave it away at that time, love can be pure, and hate can be pure.

The mental torture, cold violence is far more painful than the physical pain. was once so desperate that he died, and the search for death was just a self-directed and self-performed drama.

She is not the only one in my life. And she wasn't always like that, and there are a lot of lovely things.

I don't care about the innocuous spectators.

However, my dad is an extremely face-saving person, how can I make this dad who only loves me sad and desperate.

I can do nothing, but I can't help but believe in karma. Probably in my last life, I was a vicious bad person who did a lot of unforgivable evil things. As a man in this life, God made me pay it back, and this is the suffering I must suffer in this life.

Forgive me for the real and sinful dream I hope that my mother will disappear from now on and not appear, probably only by dying.

However, it is unethical and rebellious to curse my mother for dying, and in order to avoid being condemned, I just said in my heart that she would have disappeared.

The dream freed me from reality and freed me in an extremely perverted way. While I think so, I clearly know that self-abuse is a part of my life, and I am used to eating, drinking, and Lazar.

If my mother died because of me, I would blame myself until I died to find relief. I am not afraid of death, and I want to die for liberation.

But life is not just us, and we have no right to dispose of it privately. Unless we repay the debt it owes to the present day.

But with the passage of time, this kindness has become stronger and stronger, and those who once thought they were cruel have too much helplessness and pity, so how can they bear to repay it?

So cruel that it cannot be tolerated.

Dreams are just dreams, and if we know their motives and connotations, we should seek a more perfect fusion of self-knowledge and action in an appropriate way, and nothing else.