I had a Very Scary in Journal

Dream last night, but I’ve already dissected it so I’m afraid that I won’t include it in my dream journal, here. Unless I happen upon some free time, which is unlikely. Still have the rest of ch7 to read in the book I’m analysing with a friend; The Anthropology of Childhood. It is excellent, if you were wondering.
It’s funny because you know, I would have said even 12 months ago that intense, violent, and destructive dreams were just seemingly part of my nature. I had after all, never been without them up until that point.
What changed? The happiest decision I’ve ever made- to stop rewarding my family with unearned time and energy.
It would be precocious to list all the ways my life has improved since making that decision. So I won’t. Suffice to say, even at this premature stage, I am happier than I’ve ever been in my entire life.
The shock of violence returning to my dreams is a truly jarring experience- and I am thankful even for that. The experience of being disconcerted by what was a normal every night experience is so soothing, in a way. It is so good to look back and know that that is no longer my life. And it never will be, again.
Which is, sort of, what the dream was about. This is, I suppose, a way to help me synthesize it a little further than I already have. The irony of gaining peace from violence. Because, yes- that is it, isn’t it? Every new would be threat, every attempted attack on my conscious or my reputation or my very person is another brutality avoided.
And I have no doubt- no doubt at all- that my family remains just as vehemently vengeful as ever they were. I see it in the faces of those who still see them. I see it in their fear and quiet withdrawal. I hear it in their suddenly rapidly beating hearts and their furtive, shallow breath. I feel their panic.