[Bad] Dream of a Memory

Do you know anyone that’s ever been abused? Any sort of abused? I do. I have. I was. Many forms, by different people at different times in my life. Most of the time, though, it was on repeat by one person: my stepfather.

For the most part I’ve gotten over it. While my mother is still, unfortunately, married to the man that treated me so badly throughout my childhood and adolescent years (and even now he bad mouths and talks down to me, but I’ve grown more of a back bone and will talk back to him despite fear of retribution), most of my communication with my mother is via telephone as she lives over an hour away and she works over 8 hours a day, every day, every week with the [very] occasional day off; she’s the main “breadwinner” of their household as my stepdad is (surprise-surprise!) a convicted felon & although he could find work at, the very least, a manufacturing plant, he refuses to work anything other than odd jobs that he runs himself.

Therefore, my communication with that entire household is limited.

And my mother.

I love her. I do. I may not always agree with everything she says. I may not agree with everything she does, especially the fact that she’s still with my stepdad, but I love her nonetheless. I will acknowledge her faults, though most of the time not to her face because she won’t most of the time. She confides in me and I, her. We understand each other because of, oddly enough, my stepfather. We have a mutual understanding between us and I’m thankful to her that, although she’s my mother, my Mom, she chose to have me live apart from her.

And that’s where everything comes full circle as to why I’m writing this tonight.

I woke up around three this morning, my eyes wide and in a panic. I knew I was in bed and if it wasn’t for the fact that my husband’s arms were still around me I probably would have screamed.

I dreamt of a memory of days long since past. It was nearly 9 years ago – the winter of 2005 – and I was living with my mother in the home she lives in now. It’s a small, technically one-bedroom, house that at the time housed my Mom & stepdad in what is now a closet; my two younger brothers, who were then 6 & 8 years old in what is now a combined living room/Mom & stepdad’s room; and me, in what is now my youngest brother’s room, that back then was right next to my mother and stepfather’s “room” and only separated by a sheet. There was no privacy whatsoever. It was Hell on Earth.

Normally I wouldn’t be living with them; I abhor my stepfather and nearly always have, but my Grandmother, whom I had been staying with, gave me an ultimatum that pushed me and I took it. I wasn’t going to give up a friendship for her old-fashioned ideals, but that’s a different topic altogether. So I found myself moving 45 minutes away and switching schools in the middle of the fall semester my first year of high school. My mother was happy that I was finally coming to live with her, but she wasn’t happy about the circumstances behind it. Honestly, everything was going well until the last day of school before winter break.

One of my friends, specifically a male friend, asked if he could come over and hang out for a bit after school. I told him I’d ask. I was more than naïve back then, I guess; he purposely left information out to me and I didn’t see the signs. Either way, we both got permission for him to come over and he rode the bus home with me. I’m going to point this out now: I never thought of him as anything more than a friend; he was JUST a friend to me in my mind. Well, apparently everybody else thought otherwise – including him.

He ended up eating dinner with my family because his mom hadn’t picked him up yet. When I asked him why she hadn’t shown up yet, he said that she wouldn’t be there till around 9PM. I was pissed! He never told me that and I knew, at that moment, I was going to get hell from my stepdad as soon as he left.

I was right.

After he left and my brothers were firmly asleep my stepdad started in on me and it just kept coming. I don’t remember everything he said; he asked me so many questions – accusing me of lying when I hadn’t and every time I denied lying he just got angrier.

What I haven’t said yet is that my stepfather is an alcoholic. I know by that time he was drunk for sure, but I couldn’t tell you how long he’d been drinking that day.

Finally, at one point, I was sent to bed. I think it was around 11-11:30 that evening. I was tired. I’d had a long day at school and then I’d been grilled and yelled at and intimidated by my stepfather. Nobody likes that. I fell asleep listening to him yell at my Mom, but the words were a blur to me, even then.

I was woken up again around 1AM, being dragged – literally – out of bed by my arm by my stepfather. He was pissed, and that’s an understatement. I don’t remember what the discussion at that point was about. I was being questioned again about my actions that evening and why I did what and several other co-existing categories. I remember answering something honestly and it must have been the wrong answer, and something that he disliked extremely or considered a “smart-ass remark” because the next thing I knew I was dodging a glass plate being thrown at me. If I hadn’t moved it would have hit my upper left shoulder near my neck. I don’t remember much after that other than crying and being scared.

I moved back to my Grandmother’s within days after that. I don’t think anyone would question why. It was my Mom’s decision to move me back.

The thing is, this is only one of the instances of something abusive happening to me but for some reason it’s the one that pops up the most in my memory, in my dreams; it’s the one that troubles me the most and I don’t understand why.

I was scared then and it scarred me enough mentally and emotionally that it still bothers me to this day, enough to keep me awake at night. The abuse I’ve suffer throughout my life from my stepfather, and inadvertently from my mother, is probably the one thing that I haven’t completely gotten over and I’m not sure that I ever will. I think that’s what scares me.

Now it’s not the terror of being physically dragged away from my bed in the middle of the night by someone else; now it’s the terror of waking up and having to drag myself from my own bed because of someone else… because I’m afraid to face what might be in my dreams.

Friendship Status: Processing

It’s been about two weeks now. I wonder if she’s thought about it, if she’s actually talked about it with her fiance?

What am I talking about it? I’m talking about my “best friend” who’s getting married in December. I’m in the wedding, but so is the man that raped me. I confronted her about it and her response was… not very enthusiastic on my behalf. It was almost as if she was fighting for him instead.

In the time since then I’ve been busy moving but it hasn’t stopped me from thinking about the situation concerning her. My stress level, my anxiety, has went through the roof since that phone conversation those weeks ago. I’ve imagined so many ways that this could turn out, so many different conversations; unfortunately, most of them finish with the ending of our friendship. I can’t help but think “what happened?”

Five years ago she never would have second-guessed me about what I’ve said. Three years ago she would’ve stood by my side through thick and thin. Now, though, everything has changed and I don’t know why. I’ve known her for most of my given life, most of which I’ve considered her to be my best friend.

I’m afraid to her what she’s going to say, if she ever says anything to me at all. Because, like I’ve said, it’s been two weeks and I’ve heard no response about it.

I think she’s avoiding the issue. Maybe she’s afraid too? Maybe she doesn’t want to tell me that she [and her fiance] have decided that I’m “too selfish” and they don’t want me in the wedding at all? Or maybe she would rather tell me face to face? This weekend is going to be the first weekend since our phone confrontation that she’ll be nearby since she goes to college out of state. Or… or maybe she is just avoiding it altogether, avoiding me. It’s possible.

There are so many possibilities out there and I’ve only listed a few. I’ve even thought of the possibility where she and her fiance discuss it and she actually does defend me. Ironically, if she did that, her and her fiance (for the umpteenth time, might I add) would more than likely break-up… again. I think she’s going to choose him over me, which to some extent I can understand, but she also understands where I’m coming from.

She’s been raped too. That’s why I though, hoped, that she would understand where I was coming from and why I was asking something so drastic of her. Instead, though, I got the response of “he’s been best friends with him for 10 years, I could never ask that of him, just like I hope he would never ask me to take you out of the wedding”.

I didn’t think about it at the time, but she and I have known him for the same amount of time. We met him (her fiance) eleven years ago at the same time. Ten years ago said guy (“the rapist”) was not her fiance’s best friend when we met him, another guy was. Maybe seven years ago they became best friends, at most eight, but definitely not ten. I kind of think she was pulling the number of years out of her ass, so to speak. And it makes me angry.

And I’ve discussed it with MY fiance; he understands where I’m coming from. I made the comment the other night while he was preparing dinner (yes, he was – not me) that if her rapist was in our wedding I would take him out without a second thought. I’d tell the guy “sorry”, but something came up. Though, after hearing what happened I probably wouldn’t want to be around that guy much anyway. My fiance understood that and completely agreed.

It basically comes down to the fact to whose friendship does she value more. I’m not even sure if it has anything to do with her fiance, and if he does then their relationship is more of a dictatorship then one of equal value.

The way I see it, if she valued my friendship and believed what I said she would put more stock into my request instead of, what seems to me, just pushing it aside to be dealt with later.

Apparently I’m not a good enough friend because I’m trying to ruin her big day by asking for the guy that raped me to not be near me. I’m sorry. I’ll try to be less selfish; I only wanted to not have a panic attack in front of 200 people.