I remember best the dream attacks I had when I was around ten years old during the beginning of my anxiety torture phase.
I was with my mother dodging though the crowd at one of the theme parks of southern California we always visited. We were running through terror. Something was wrong and we had to get out of the park. We got to the front gates and saw them. Three velociraptors in the parking lot. The raptors broke through the gates and began eating people. They got my mother. I found my father and was running the gauntlet again towards the back of the park. The dream ends.
My twin sister and I sat in our Sunday best holding our baskets filled with eggs in the small and dusty western town. Our mother was in the general store buying fabric. After she and I finished our tea we wandered off. It was then that it found us. A tyrannosaurus rex roared down at us before gobbling up my sister.
In the corner of my parents bedroom lay the bodies of my family members. Parents, brother and sisters dead. I went over and had sex with their bodies. Apparently I had turned into a man.
I was so flabbergasted and ashamed of believing the last dream came from my mind that it took almost ten years for me to tell my mother about it. The torture group wanted to confuse me about what this dreams meant. They postulated that I was angry at my family for how bad our relationships were at the time of these dreams that the thoughts of violence tied into my life experience.