It was All a Dream…


Wreckage befell her disbelieving eyes. Windows smashed, furniture torn to shreds, valuables ransacked and left on the floor. Her family photos had been all but completely ravaged, peering out of the rubble as if to play a painful game of hide and seek. She was floored by the sight of her annihilation, dazed at the thought that she would never put back together the puzzle pieces of the life that she had fortified with love and tears.

It was all a dream…

She awoke to her tormentor, callously belting out his list of daily insults. She thought to herself, “Does he ever think of anything new to complain about?” As she geared up for another day in hell, she wondered if her dream was better than her reality. Surely, there must be more to life than beckoning to the call of her living nightmare.

Crosby and Middletown.

I’ll be there in fifteen minutes; this bitch won’t wake up.

No three for fifty, I got mouths to feed.

I said fifteen minutes.

I’ll be right there.

Here we go, she thought to herself as she began her daily routine of slavery. She slummed her way to the kitchen to make the kids some breakfast. Her tormentor followed her, snapping at her heels as usual.

Why don’t you do the dishes while you’re at it dumb bitch?

Don’t talk to me like that.

I’ll talk to you however I want. I got things to do. If you want to get out of here, I need to make money. I can’t babysit you every day while you pace around like a crazy person.

Whatever, just leave me alone.

I will leave you alone dumb bitch, I’m outta here.

She solemnly stumbles through the kitchen, trying to find the strength to make it through the day. Her thoughts run wild, she can’t focus on the task at hand. She tries to snap herself out of it because she knows that if she doesn’t stay focused, she’ll surely get screamed on.

Daddy when will you be home?

I’ll be back in a couple hours sweety. You guys call me if you need me. And keep an eye on mommy. She has a hard time with living.

Can I play video games?

You can do whatever you want. I’ll bring home snacks and we can watch a movie when I get home.

We love you Daddy.

I wish he talked to me like that. He’s trying to destroy me I just know it. I can’t even be a mother to my children because he lets them do what they want. I’m just a doormat to be stepped on then beat up when I can no longer hold the mounds of dirt that accumulate on my surface. If only the kids knew what a crack-dealing scumbag he is. If only they knew that this life is unacceptable. If only they knew the pain he causes me.

Mommy I’m hungry.

It’s almost done.

Can you at least hook up the PlayStation?

We have to do homeschool remember?

Daddy said we could.

Daddy forgot about homeschool.

I’m calling daddy.

Fine. I’ll hook it up. Just give me a second.

We’ve been waiting all morning.

She angrily hooks-up the PlayStation and gives the kids some breakfast. Off to the computer she goes to find some educational worksheets. She’s pissed that her tormentor continues to deny her of the tools necessary to properly school the children. She’s pissed that her tormentor talks to her like she’s a piece of shit in front of the kids. She’s numb to the fact that the kids believe him. She doesn’t know how to make them see reality. Everything she does backfires.

Mommy why are you on the computer?

I’m printing worksheets for homeschool.

But I want to play games.

You can play after school.


She finally manages to pry the kids away from the television for long enough to do something productive. She is extremely agitated and looking for an escape. She decides that since the children are busy with schoolwork, she’ll attempt to work on her website and talk to people on the social strata.

Mommy why are you on the computer?

I’m just wasting time until you are finished.

But I need help.

What do you need help with?

Nothing. Just forget it.

Hours turns into days, days turn into weeks, weeks turn into months, months turn into years. She has forgotten what it means to be normal. She doesn’t even remember a time when things were normal. She doesn’t know if there ever was a normal for her. She has submitted to every demand from her tormentor, and never received a reward. All she received is drug addiction and chaos, destruction of herself and her belongings. She has forgotten who she is.

After a long hard battle with crack addiction, enabled by her tormentor, she has taken to alcoholism. Her tormentor doesn’t drink alcohol so he insults her day after day in front of the children. He would rather her smoke crack in the bathroom with him all day than to drink without anybody knowing. She is resentful toward the children who never fuss about the hours he spends in the bathroom, yet ridicule her for trying to hide her drinking.

Come in here with me, we need to talk.

I don’t want to talk.

I bet you want to go drink behind the corner store.


Mommy stop.

No I won’t stop. Don’t you see what he is doing?


See what you did? You made the kids cry!

I’m gonna slit your fucking throat.

A long court battle ensues. She tries to present her stack of evidence that she has been abused. The courts won’t listen. The only evidence that is acceptable is the tormentor’s account. She is angry and paralyzed by abuse. She can’t cope with the fact than an illiterate crack-dealer who contradicts himself at every turn won full custody, but she doesn’t even get visitation.

She goes off the deep end. Trying to make sense of the past, she realizes that her past is bringing her to ruin. Her tormentor continues to send her illiterate insults through every possible source of contact. She cuts herself off from everyone she ever knew. College, clubs, programs galore. She buries herself in any productive means to take her mind off the wreckage.

Hours turns into days, days turn into weeks, weeks turn into months, months turn into years. She has forgotten what it means to be normal. She doesn’t even remember a time when things were normal. She doesn’t know if there ever was a normal for her. She drinks her sorrows away, struggling everyday to make sense of the wreckage that her life has become.

She remembers her dream…

It was all a dream… It was all a dream… It was all a dream… It was all a dream…



  1. I lived that life, except as the child, I was even worse than my mother. My life was plagued by two questions. How could my mother allow my abuse and why didn’t her family see it?
    When I brought up my abuse to mom’s family I was called a liar, it was’t that bad. And that caused more damage than the abuse itself. Because it made it justified and drove me crazy.

    After years of research my answer is, our thinking. We have all been trained over the centuries (some more than others) to not ask questions, just to accept and move on.

    Because of this, abusers are free to do what they want. whether thats in a home, the corporate world, politics or religion. It’s the same denial thinking. I thought I was alone, I know see it everywhere. The only way to heal, is to openly examine our past and see the people in our lives for who they actually are. It takes time to change a perception.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Jahangir says:

    nice story!

    Liked by 1 person

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