Bile
I had a dream last week that I was working in the early hours of the morning, and that as I was walking to the kitchen to make more coffee he was standing there in the shadows. At first I walked right past him. His face was foreign somehow, forgotten - a mere shadow of a memory, but yet there was an undeniable familiarity. But then I heard his voice, and my heart stopped.
And I knew it was him before I ever turned my head to see. And I knew, that it was too late to scream. Too late to get away.
I won't go into the minute details of the dream, how I ran screaming from him down a hallway, how I tripped on the beige carpet and slammed my entire weight into the door to lock it before he opened it. How he used a fire extinguisher to beat my office door down. I won't go into how people heard me screaming and went about their business like nothing was wrong, or how after all this time I woke up with a scream caught in my throat and my heart wildly - madly beating my mouth full of bile. After all this time, I am still afraid.
It had been nearly a year since I last had a nightmare about him. Old roommates complained that I used to scream every night - that they felt as if we were living in a haunted house. How do you explain that the haunting is in your own mind - hidden truths buried in your own heart? How do you explain that after the bruises fade that the scars still remain? When we were first married, Michael said I screamed every night- begging for someone to stop. Beseechingly crying out for mercy. Over time, I gradually felt safe in my new life and the dreams faded, only occasionally coming back to haunt me.
It had been nearly a year, but the fear was so tangible - so incredibly strong that I found comfort only after locking myself in my bathroom and rocking myself on the cold tile floor. After all this time, I am still that afraid.
I thought by now it would be over. I thought by now I would be healed.
But instead, now when I find a car coming up fast behind me on the street, I instinctively look in my rear view mirror to see if it's him. Instead, I find myself afraid to be alone in the house again, afraid to venture out in the dark. Instead, I find myself full of self-hate that I allowed it to happen. I find myself angry that I didn't stand up. I find myself utterly devoid of hope.
I hate being afraid. I hate that you did this to me. I hate that this fear will never go away.
I am still a prisoner to an unspeakable truth that bears down with greater force than you ever did. I just want it to go away.
And I knew it was him before I ever turned my head to see. And I knew, that it was too late to scream. Too late to get away.
I won't go into the minute details of the dream, how I ran screaming from him down a hallway, how I tripped on the beige carpet and slammed my entire weight into the door to lock it before he opened it. How he used a fire extinguisher to beat my office door down. I won't go into how people heard me screaming and went about their business like nothing was wrong, or how after all this time I woke up with a scream caught in my throat and my heart wildly - madly beating my mouth full of bile. After all this time, I am still afraid.
It had been nearly a year since I last had a nightmare about him. Old roommates complained that I used to scream every night - that they felt as if we were living in a haunted house. How do you explain that the haunting is in your own mind - hidden truths buried in your own heart? How do you explain that after the bruises fade that the scars still remain? When we were first married, Michael said I screamed every night- begging for someone to stop. Beseechingly crying out for mercy. Over time, I gradually felt safe in my new life and the dreams faded, only occasionally coming back to haunt me.
It had been nearly a year, but the fear was so tangible - so incredibly strong that I found comfort only after locking myself in my bathroom and rocking myself on the cold tile floor. After all this time, I am still that afraid.
I thought by now it would be over. I thought by now I would be healed.
But instead, now when I find a car coming up fast behind me on the street, I instinctively look in my rear view mirror to see if it's him. Instead, I find myself afraid to be alone in the house again, afraid to venture out in the dark. Instead, I find myself full of self-hate that I allowed it to happen. I find myself angry that I didn't stand up. I find myself utterly devoid of hope.
I hate being afraid. I hate that you did this to me. I hate that this fear will never go away.
I am still a prisoner to an unspeakable truth that bears down with greater force than you ever did. I just want it to go away.
posted by April at 1:02 PM
2 Comments:
I've read almost all your blog posts--you're a great writer. I'm sorry that you had something so awful to remember, and write about, though.
On a lighter note--try to dream about the car trip with the cat! Or maybe not... I have to say, that stands as as perhaps THE worst single pet experience I've ever read about!
Well, happier dreams for the future to you...
i think most of us have hidden & pervasive fears, whether based on reality or not, that consume and control us. its at those moments however that you feel the tightening grip of anxious anticipation when it is most important to look down at your feet and concentrate hard on the floor on which you stand - it is real and you are here not there - you control yourself and you control the fear - not the other way around.
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