i had yet another nightmare last night, well Wednesday night, and it wasn’t pretty… maybe that’s why i didn’t get any good sleep and was tired all day.
part 1:
The setting is a large, open, and extravagant mansion, one you might see in that tv show Cane. I felt like I was on the set, though I’ve never watched an episode. The “mob boss”, who resembled Sonny from General Hospital with the black hair and the anger management issues, entered through the back sliding doors. Everyone stopped in their tracks. He greeted a few of the guards with a smile, handshake, and offisde comment. Then, he came to me and said, “Here!” He handed me $50 in tens. I took it immediately, but upon thinking about my action, handed back 4 tens. “No, no. Take the whole thing,” he said. I replied,”Oh, I can’t. I appreciate it, but I will only take ten; that is enough.” I hugged the ten dollar bill to my chest. He patted my head and left.
Part 2:
I was still at the house, but in a different room. There was a small gathering or party going on. Everyone was sitting down eating and drinking. The only material thing I can actually remember is the big drink dispenser with enough fruit cocktails for everyone. I got one for myself and sat in between a guy and a girl, both with drinks already in their hands. I was clumsy; I almost knocked over the girl’s drink. I apologized, but she told me, “No need to!” We made small talk. In other words, I was all but myself. I soon realized that I was doing something wrong because the “mob boss” came in and slapped me across the cheek. At that time, I realized that I was his wife in the nightmare.
Part 3:
I was stunned and cowering in front of him. The slap stung, but I wasn’t worried about it as he pulled me aside violently. I was scared of him then, hurt, and embarrassed that everyone was watching the scene unfold. He led a painful assault, slapping me several more times, pulling me by the collar to be close enough to his dark face that I felt his screams and seemingly incoherent ramblings reverbating my being. I stared straight at the large, colored tiles on the opposite wall. Some of them had pictures or something on them that I don’t remember the significance now. I didn’t cry or cry out. And as suddenly as he had entered, he stopped hitting. He wiped the blood dribbling out of the corner of my mouth and stared at me solemnly for a moment. He apologized curtly, upon which he left. Everyone turned away as if I might not have known they were watching, but I knew. I tried acting normal, cleaning and scrubbing the marble floors (which doesn’t seem normal in itself, as this was a party). A guy walked over to help and asked if I was okay. I nodded, although no one believed it i’m sure. He tried to make me laugh; I was grateful for his helpful spirit, but I hated the pity.
Afterthought:
If I wasn’t being abused, would they have cared or worried about me then? If I didn’t know the people in the house, would they have taken a second look or tried to help? As I continue to write blogs about my feelings, will anyone notice them? Might they affect someone how they have affected me? This whole thing about writing and wanting to feel beat up makes me think that when I self-harmed, it was in part, due to attention-seeking pains.
i just woke up from a 3 or 4 hour nap, actually awaken by a phone call. I was in the middle of another nightmare, which now is a distant memory. I can’t recall anything from it. too bad, i would have another post for tomorrow.
Unfitting 