My living nightmare
Think bad dreams are just for kids? Every night I’m trapped in my own personal horror movie
Exclusive | 3 min read | as told to Jade Beecroft
Peeking through my window, I spotted ten shadowy figures gathered on the lawn outside. Dark hoods obscured their faces but their eyes glinted in the moonlight.
I jumped at the tinkling noise of shattering glass and a six-inch steel kitchen knife landed beside me.
The next few minutes became a blur of shouting and banging as they smashed down the door. I was dragged along the carpet, kicking out desperately, then felt the cold stab of a blade slicing into my arm.
Welcome to the world of nightmare disorder – a little-known condition that’s caused me violent, terrifying dreams every night for the past five years. Sufferers of the disorder have such frequent and intense nightmares that it affects our day-to-day functioning as well as creating high anxiety about going to sleep.
THE NIGHTMARES
I’d always been creative – loved art and music, wrote stories and was a drama scholar. But as soon as I closed my eyes that creativity became my worst enemy. I was at boarding school preparing for my GCSEs when my nightmares began. Everyone has the odd bad dream but mine went from occasional, to regular, to every single night.
Some mornings I’d wake physically aching where I’d lashed out at myself and covered in scratches or bruises. Other mornings I’d rush to the loo to be sick.
My parents had been in The Netherlands with Dad’s work but my worried mum flew home to be with me and took me to the doctor. Sitting in front of our family GP, I tried to describe how vivid my dreams were. How I could smell the metallic iron tang of blood as I was stabbed. See flames licking up the walls as our house was torched. Feel the pain and exhaustion as I desperately fought off a rapist.
I was referred for counselling and talking therapy, given medications for anxiety and depression. Meanwhile, I tried every holistic sleep aid going. Special pillows, hot baths, Vitamin E and Magnesium supplements, essential oils and Melatonin. Nothing worked.
Most nights I’d stay quiet and deal with the horrors myself. Very few friends or boyfriends want waking up at 3am, night after night. But occasionally I’d crawl into my parents’ bed, sleeping between them for comfort. Imagine having to do that at 18.
One therapist advised keeping a sleep diary.
The first entry alone sums up the brutality I was living through nightly: ‘Me and my family are slipping down a giant grate and each time we fall everyone gets stabbed in the head. A man appears with keys and gloves and we’re taken to a huge oven...’
PLUNGED INTO DARKNESS
Last autumn I started an art degree at Lancaster University, hoping for a new chapter. But after waking up with a chipped tooth I had to start sleeping with a gum guard. Other mornings I’d feel so sick or spaced out I’d be late for lectures.
One tutor set us a project to create art around something personal to us. It was the first time I’d ever tried to draw my dreams. I painted distorted screaming faces and my childhood bedrooms surrounded by flames.
One of Sophie's dark painting depicting her nightmares. Photo: Sophie Brown/Belfast News and Features
People commented how dark they were. Not as dark as my sleeping mind, I thought.
By this time my anxiety was through the roof. I spent every day worrying about what was going to happen to me in bed that night. Constantly sick and jittery, I was even struggling to eat. Two months into my course I just wanted to go home to my family.
Dropping out of uni was a real turning point. I felt disappointed in myself, like I’d let people down. My nightly nightmares had become completely debilitating – it was time to search for answers.
TAKING CONTROL
My art project had inspired me to research bad dreams. I spent hours Googling, reading everything I could.
That’s when I finally discovered my condition has a name: nightmare disorder. Reading down the list of symptoms, everything slotted into place. Doctors agreed and it was put on my medical notes. But treatment options tended to be similar to patients suffering from PTSD and I’d already exhausted many of them.
That’s when I made a pledge to myself: If my nights are going to be bad… then my days are going to be better.
I was put on a type of anti-depressant medication called Sertraline and started throwing myself into positive experiences, spending a month travelling in Thailand and painting pet portraits to raise money for a local hospice.
Sophie on her trip to Thailand in Spring 2020. Photo: Sophie Brown/Belfast News and Features
I enrolled in a new course, liberal arts, at Bristol University, which I’m still doing today. This time I’m determined to get a degree.
And I’ve set up a Facebook support group called Nightmare Disorder Charity to reach out to others like me. One of the most frustrating things is there’s very little research into the condition or how many people it affects. Nor are there many places sufferers can find and talk to each other.
In the last few months I’ve received so many messages from people grateful to realise they’re not alone.
I still wake up from nightmares every single night. Sometimes I crawl to the corner of my bedroom at 3am and sit on the floor, so I have a full view of the room. Other days I’m combing the house in the early hours, checking the doors and windows are locked.
But I can’t look to a future filled with nightmares. Instead I have to believe that one day there will be a cure; my ambition is to take part in research that makes this happen.
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