TW: Sexual Abuse, Child Abuse, Trauma
Context: I’ve been struggling with intrusive daydream-esque memory reels of my abuse and decided to record them.
…
Daydreams are my bread and butter.
On days when the world seems lifeless, dull, without color?
Daydreams paint the scene with the wonder of “what could be”.
.
I’ve always been stuck in my head
One foot, firmly rooted in fantasy; the other chained to reality.
Embracing delusion to escape the cold rigidity of the world.
Reality has a way of seeping in though, no matter how deep you’ve gone.
…
10:00 am, or maybe just a little before, I’m lying in a bed; awake, but not present.
In my mind, a version of myself that is just a little more brave is running desperately down the street.
.
The Brave Girl runs, she runs as fast as she can (though she knows, it is not very fast at all)
she stumbles, but biting back her tears she continues on. Her feet tumble through the neighborhood streets, winding through turns and cul-de-sacs to throw off any pursuers.
She arrives, at (of all things) the Dollar Tree down the road; it’s the nearest non-residential building as far as she knows. Brave Girl, eyes wide, calls out with a trembling voice to the kindly woman behind the counter,
“May I sit behind the counter and use your phone?”.
The woman, a hero in her green Dollar Tree polo, concedes to the Girl’s request and hands her the receiver.
.
He bursts through the door, the welcoming chime somehow ominous in its announcement of His arrival.
He barks a series of questions, dripping with rage and panic; a rabid dog seeking out His prey.
The Dollar Tree Employee simply shakes her head and notes,
“If I see her I could give you a call, would you like to leave your number?”.
He, in his urgency, shakes His head and leaves the store; the chime now full, with the sound of relief.
.
The daydream of a girl no older than Nine ends in a blur.
The police are called, or sometimes her mother.
Brave Girl escapes quite literally and puts an end to her Nightmare.
and she never has to go to That Place again.
.
A moment passes
10:00 am, or maybe just a little after, She’s lying in a bed; awake, but not present.
In her bed, a version of herself that is just a little less brave is dreaming of running desperately down the street.
…
Extraordinarily Ordinary 