The Rabbit Hole

Fair WARNING: This post is a RAW and OPEN, if you are not upto it, don’t read it.

 

The entity came back. She could feel its sticky breath on her neck as it was whispering in her ear. You are worthless. You will never achieve anything. You cannot move. You are stuck here. With me.

 

Her eyes were filling up with tears as she stiffened her upper lip and again and again repeated in her mind, this is not true. This is not true. This is not true.

 

She couldn’t see its face, actually, she never saw it. It was just there. At night, right before she was going to sleep it would creep in and curl up on her pillow. She could feel it coming closer and closer to her ear. It was reading her mind, accessing what happened during the day and how it would strike.

 

It would remind her of the failures of the day. It reminded her what a loser she was last year and that nothing had changed. It reminded her that no matter of her choice, the likes of her are never successful.

 

You think you can achieve anything, you stupid slut! You are not smart. There are smart people in your class, you are not one of them.

 

You are not pretty. There are pretty girls in your class, they are all whores, and you are not of them, but you will be a whore when you grow up because the only thing you would know is how to be a whore.

 

Today was different. Today, she refused to stay in bed and listen. She tried to get up. The entity sprung its tentacles in a tight embrace and pulled her back in. The whisper was lulling although the words were terrible for anyone to hear. Too terrible for anyone to share. Too scary to be judged.

 

It kept lulling her into the world where she is no one and means nothing.

 

She closed her eyes and out of a sudden, she saw the light. And the voice, as clear as that light was, said, – Get up. You chose what you want you to be. Not him.

 

And she did. She got up. No tentacles around her. No sticky voice in her head.

 

It was morning, dull and gray and a bit damp. Her mother was still in the kitchen. She faced the refrigerator and her hand reached out to grab an egg, she had heard the familiar noise. The slithering and the whisper. She knew IT was there, right there, with her and her mom in the kitchen.

 

She looked at her mom and saw fear and disgust on her face. Her mother was familiar with the entity. Her mother had suffered, too.

 

She looked around. There he was. For the first time, she realized this sticky whisper had indeed a face.

 

It was her father. Reeking of the alcohol, bloodshot eyes and the mouth spitting out things no one should have to hear. Especially coming from your father. She saw his hand closed in a fist. She knew she had to stand up to him.

 

She grabbed the rolling pin that was left out on the kitchen table, swung it over her shoulder and shouted:

– Momma, step aside! Step aside, mom, now! – the words had turned to mush in her mouth.

– Mom! – the swollen tongue, the mouth full of cotton…

 

The sound of my husband peacefully snoring right next to me returned me to present and the reality. I was awake.

 

I never had to grab a rolling pin to protect myself from my father in the literal meaning. I did have to defend myself and my mind from his poison though.

 

In two weeks it is one year since he physically died. In my heart and my mind, he died a long time ago. Before he gave into heavy drinking, he was fun to be around. We tried to fight for him and help him. The more he drank the more violent he got. He threatened to burn down our apartment.  He threw a recliner at me. He cursed, shouted, threatened, manipulated. Anything and everything to keep in fear and under his control.

 

When mom finally found the way out, we all felt free. But we were not. So much was still not talked about. So many hurts need to be healed. Even now as I write this, it has been more than 15 years since I got completely from his direct influence and I still have conversations in my head trying to explain it to him.

 

Trying to get my dad to see what he had done to his own children. And, just as he did a few weeks before he died, he tells me he doesn’t remember it happen. I am too emotional. I am exaggerating.  

 

I find myself running on the same hamster wheel and then falling down the same rabbit hole.

 

This last nightmare was different. When I woke up I was able to pull myself out of the funk induced by it almost instantaneously. I had done a lot of mind and soul work to be able to fall back asleep in the next few minutes and not be influenced by it the next day.

 

He is dead and he still is trying to push me into that same hole. Not this time. Not anymore.

 

This is my life. This is my reality. This is my truth.

 

I refuse to be running in a hamster wheel. I will not fall down that rabbit hole again.

 

I am in control. And THAT was just a dream.

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