new skin

I feel like I’m boiling over.

Like this morning, when I woke from a dream where we hid from people who turned into spiders — their bodies slowly morphing into pinchers and knobby eyes. At one point, we knew our location was under attack. We needed to hide, and fast. I hid under the covers of a nearby bed. I felt like this was sufficient, that the covers were bulky enough to hide me, but my phone was beside me and playing music out of its speaker. I wanted to turn it off and protect myself, but I was just too tired. I even mouthed the words in my dream.

I’m just too tired.


So I woke up this morning feeling out of sorts and remembering the obscure haze of sleep and how in this mental state, I tend to analyze my dreams as they happen.

This is what we have to deal with now, I remember thinking. Nightmares.

I’ve been having nightmares a lot lately. Aside from the spiders, I’ve been seeing my abuser in my dreams. It’s a recurring one where she shows up unannounced and uninvited and demands my attention. Normally, I hide — like with the spiders. But lately, I’ve fought back. I’ve cried and yelled and screamed and pounded on the walls and slammed the doors and pushed her out of my space every time she makes an appearance. I’ve been claiming my mental acreage. I’ve been protective over my soul.

You do not get to be here, I say. And I mean it.

Perhaps this is why I feel as if I might boil over. Perhaps this is why last week, in a state otherwise known as rage, I made a decision to finally stand up for myself. I told a friend today on the phone that it’s like I have this other Elora inside me who is done with being ignored.

“It’s like she’s telling me that whether I’m ready or not, she’s gonna speak. It’s her time,” I said.

“Girl, yes!” My friend responded. “Let her. Let her speak. You need her.”

And I know I do. I know it like I know the feeling of coming home when she takes that breath before the words fly up and out of my mouth. I know it like I know the feeling of freedom.

I know it like I know the memories that come rushing back every time I hear another excuse.

Why didn’t she report if it really happened?
Why wait so long?
She’s obviously in this for attention.
She can’t go against this person, she doesn’t have the biblically required witnesses.

I feel like I’m boiling over.

I feel like I’m breaking into new skin.

Posted on October 7, 2018 and filed under The Memoirs.