Dear W,
I dreamt about you last night, as I sometimes do. Except, instead of the rage I normally feel upon waking, I just felt tired and sad. I'm ready to move on from you, I think. I am ready to let you slip right out of my existence, but you can't. You simply won't fade quietly into a good night. I have come to believe that you exist solely to torment my mother and, through her, to torment me.
I dreamt that Chris and I were looking for something, throwing clothing and other such things all over a bedroom of sorts. It was only when I looked up I realized it was the bedroom I had in the little blue trailer and where the bed should've been for the futon bunk-bed there were only bars. I glanced up at you through those bars, of course you came in without knocking, like you always did.
I didn't yell at you to knock, but simply said you needed to knock before entering someone's room. You walked back over to the door and re-entered, again without knocking. You never told me what you wanted, just stood there, staring. I said something, though I don't know what it was, and you said I didn't know you, I had never known you. You were voicing the words I often think inside my own head.
"Oh, I know you." I said. "I even know what you enjoyed in bed."
You scowled at that and threatened Mom. I lied and said I had walked in on you many a time. Not entirely untrue, but mostly a lie. The truth is that I've always known what you preferred, it was obvious. You enjoyed being in control of all of us, that should logically extend into your bedroom dealings with my mother.
I asked you what my favorite movie was and you said, "Home." Obviously that wasn't right, and in the waking world I don't think there even is such a movie.
Your favorite movie is "Remember the Titans" and you're least favorite book in the Bible is "Judges" because it is so gory and violent. Which is why it was one of my favorite books, besides "Job" because God is so sarcastic. You never really knew me. I wonder if you ever even cared to try.
Because you were too busy exerting your dominance over us, too busy abusing us and starving us, you missed the beauty that was us. We could've been a beautiful family.
You make me so sick, sick of men, sick of life, sick of everything. I can't talk to God, because I hate that he let you be a part of our lives. I can't go to church because it reminds me of all your lies and hypocrisies and hatred.
I was trapped inside those bars in my dream. I let you trap me there, but I told you to get the fuck out. No malice any longer, just a weary GTFO. I wish you would, truly.
sincerely,
Sarai
I dreamt about you last night, as I sometimes do. Except, instead of the rage I normally feel upon waking, I just felt tired and sad. I'm ready to move on from you, I think. I am ready to let you slip right out of my existence, but you can't. You simply won't fade quietly into a good night. I have come to believe that you exist solely to torment my mother and, through her, to torment me.
I dreamt that Chris and I were looking for something, throwing clothing and other such things all over a bedroom of sorts. It was only when I looked up I realized it was the bedroom I had in the little blue trailer and where the bed should've been for the futon bunk-bed there were only bars. I glanced up at you through those bars, of course you came in without knocking, like you always did.
I didn't yell at you to knock, but simply said you needed to knock before entering someone's room. You walked back over to the door and re-entered, again without knocking. You never told me what you wanted, just stood there, staring. I said something, though I don't know what it was, and you said I didn't know you, I had never known you. You were voicing the words I often think inside my own head.
"Oh, I know you." I said. "I even know what you enjoyed in bed."
You scowled at that and threatened Mom. I lied and said I had walked in on you many a time. Not entirely untrue, but mostly a lie. The truth is that I've always known what you preferred, it was obvious. You enjoyed being in control of all of us, that should logically extend into your bedroom dealings with my mother.
I asked you what my favorite movie was and you said, "Home." Obviously that wasn't right, and in the waking world I don't think there even is such a movie.
Your favorite movie is "Remember the Titans" and you're least favorite book in the Bible is "Judges" because it is so gory and violent. Which is why it was one of my favorite books, besides "Job" because God is so sarcastic. You never really knew me. I wonder if you ever even cared to try.
Because you were too busy exerting your dominance over us, too busy abusing us and starving us, you missed the beauty that was us. We could've been a beautiful family.
You make me so sick, sick of men, sick of life, sick of everything. I can't talk to God, because I hate that he let you be a part of our lives. I can't go to church because it reminds me of all your lies and hypocrisies and hatred.
I was trapped inside those bars in my dream. I let you trap me there, but I told you to get the fuck out. No malice any longer, just a weary GTFO. I wish you would, truly.
sincerely,
Sarai
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