Nightmares on a Racetrack

Nightmares on a racetrack. Every night, the same.

For the past couple weeks I have had a dream. It starts as a compare & contrast between my touch and my uncle’s. My hands resting on the steel wool hair of your chest, I am soft as the fluff of the cattails that grow in that marshy plot we cross on our daily walks with my mom. One time we saw a water moccasin slither in the water there, winding through an obstacle course of reedy stems. My sister & I watched, transfixed. But, back in your trailer, next to your sunburned leather, my skin is so soft, so white. The floury dough rising in my mother’s old mixing bowl. The buttery soft, white dress gloves we wear for Sunday service on Easter.  In comparison, your hands are like the surface of the moon, craggy like a briquette, volcanic rock…Your hands sand me down with their roughness like I’m balsa…I can’t hold back the shivers as they plane my body…widening crevices, shaving off the burrs on my angles.

You get out of bed and grab a jar of something off the fridge. I know what’s coming next. You pull me to the edge of the bed, so my legs are dangling off of it like the hind legs of a wasp. You smear coldness on me and coat yourself in the slick of it before…before…before…

You cover my hand with your mouth and I scream around your fingers. My body twists like a wet shirt being wrung out in your violent hands.  I try to get out from under you, but the weight of your body on my back is a tar baby holding me fast. I lie still and take it, the assault continuing on my limp, boneless body. When you see I have finally given up, you take your hand off my mouth & put it on my other shoulder. Hateful epaulets made of your hands. I say it before I realize I’ve said it. “Just kill me. Please.” I don’t know if you even hear me over the steam engine chuff of your heavy breathing and the sound of your skin colliding with mine. I say it again. And again. Every time you thrust. My hysteria rising. You finally finish and pull out and walk away to clean up. The feeling of fullness gone, I just lie there, still. I think about how if death was hidden in the shell of one closed fist and this daily onslaught was curled up in the fingers of another, I would pray to tap on the knuckles of the hand that would open up to reveal death on its palm.

Every night for 2 weeks, this horror movie stutters in the projector. I can’t tear myself away from it…and I’m tired.

For what it’s worth, I don’t think I really want to die…I just don’t know how to live with this.


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January 13, 2020

All I can say is that it seems like you are just tired and want an end to what is going on. Like an end to the dreams every night. The end of the low quality sleep. The tiredness. The reliving of a trauma over and over.

You’re going to get through it though, okay? It takes a lot of hard work and it is painful, but you’re going to be able to get through this. I’m going to help you through it.


January 14, 2020

January 15, 2020

It is utterly unconscionable to me that a little girl would ever be put in the position where choosing death would be preferable to continuing to have to endure the evil abuse inflicted upon her. I hope very much that whatever defenses your subconscious may hold will soon banish that recurring nightmare from your dreamscape (or at least make it and its ilk less common interrupters of your slumber).

P.S. I’m still a bit misty eyed after reading your previous entry.

January 15, 2020

@drbajahi thanks for your note. The sleep situation sucks bc there is little I can do about it…and it causes me distress bc it takes me back to places in my memory, I would prefer not to go. (To quote Dashboard Confessional “the places you have come to fear the most.”) But….it’s gotta get better, right?

So…smoke got in your eye? My girl is pretty amazing.

Anyway, hope you are hanging in there…like the cute kitty on a hallmark poster….Remember that poster every girl of a certain age had? The kitty dangling off the branch with the caption “hang in there”?

January 22, 2020

It’s really not ok that you lived through such nightmare, and now have to keep reliving it. I really wish I knew how you could shut off those dreams. I can imagine that it’s pretty impossible to live with what happened, but I really hope you continue to find a way to do so. I wish there was a way to erase what happened. 🙁 And every time I comment about this horrid experience of yours, my words feel so cheap. I pray that motherfucker is burning in some sort of hell, feeling in his body every pain he caused times a hundred.