I'm on my back in the sand. I don't know how long I've been like this.
I remember running. I remember getting hit in the face, and then feeling like I was falling.
I remember him laughing at me.
I can feel that time has passed. I don't know how much. I have to get out of here, now. I roll over onto my hands and knees, get up, and turn around to face the little building.
The sky suddenly darkens to almost black, and something behind me grabs my arms, pulls them back, and twists them up behind me in a painful hammerlock. Clawed hands have a tight grip on my wrists, holding them high against my back, so I can't move anything but my feet. It's not even been a second since I stood.
Something wraps around my shoulders, across my chest. A scream escapes me, as I'm yanked backward this way, through several feet across the sand. I try to pick up a foot and kick, but I don't hit anything except sand. As I'm dragged, his voice sounds in my ear, "You've worn out my patience. I'm done being gentle with you."
I'm pulled up against him, pressure put on my wrists, pain radiating across my shoulders, down into my chest, down my triceps. Quickly, something pushes my hair aside, and at the same time, there's a soft, wet, smacking sound, and a stinging sensation in the back of my neck, right up under the base of my skull. I start to raise my foot to kick again, get less than an inch, and I hear, "I wouldn't."
Something terrible is in that voice that wasn't there before, a gravity that sends ice down my spine. He also sounds like he's talking through teeth gritted around a cigar. I freeze. He continues. "I'm right in next to your brain stem. One slip, and there will be damage. You know what that means. You shouldn't move."
I very slowly rest my foot back in the sand. Does he have something sharp against my skull? Did he stab through the back of my neck with that... thing? My neck feels kind of... pinched... in that spot. I don't know how else to describe it. My heart is pounding, as an icy, sick feeling of dread fills me. I don't want to know, but I ask anyway. "What are you doing to me?"
He growls, "Be still."
My head hurts, and I feel dizzy. I know that something really bad is happening, and I know that it will be worse if I try to fight right now. If he damages the nerves in my brain stem, he could kill me. The thought makes my knees want to buckle, but I can't let myself fall.
I feel light touches on the back of my neck and head, and cold breath against my skin where the stinging sensation is. I feel his other arm across my chest pull tighter, pressing me against him, his hand gripping my shoulder tightly. There is pressure in that pinched, stinging spot. The dizziness is worse, and then suddenly, I'm overpowered by vivid memories, and dark, painful emotions.
It feels like being carried down a rushing stream, unable to control my movement, sometimes going under so that I can't breathe. I watch - almost relive - moments of conflict and pain that I thought I'd reconciled. Bitterness rises in my chest, resentment toward people who aren't even part of my life any more, as the memories move through my consciousness, browsed like the pages of a magazine, until the faces of four women come to the forefront - three I'm angry at, and one I'm angry about - and I am filled with cutting rage. I hear my own voice screaming in fury, obscenities mixed with inarticulate sounds. I try to subdue my anger, but I can feel something pulling from the other side. I try harder, and pain explodes inside my head. His voice sounds distant, "Don't fight me. You'll only make it hurt worse."
I struggle to control my emotions, using every technique I have to rein in my temper. It isn't happening, and the pain is becoming unbearable. I want to kill someone right now. I can feel myself actually leaking animosity. In the distance, I hear thunder, and then closer, his voice. "Very good. Now let it go."
Something cold is against the side of my neck, resting on my shoulder, on top of my hair. A familiar voice says, "Don't move, either of you."
I'm not moving, except my eyes. I look up to see the edge of a blade beside my face, running back beyond my vision. The other end is held by the hand of the Doc. His face is grim. He's not looking at me. I can feel the blade pressing against my skin. I can tell by the sudden stillness that it's against the monster's neck, too. It's cold, and painfully sharp, and in a blink, I understand that if Doc can't get me out of this, he means to use it on both of us. He's not willing to let this monster through the door.
No matter how logical it seems, I can't control how I feel about it. I'm hurt, feeling cast aside by a comrade instead of defended. If he cuts me, will I really die?
Resolve is not all I can see in the Doc's eyes. I see regret. There is also grief. He says, "Let her go."
Deep in my mind, a question rises that didn't originate from me. "Do you want to survive this?"
Of course I want to survive. I'm almost indignant at the thought.
I see a scene play out; the Doc and nurse talking, discussing my situation, deciding I've been compromised, corrupted. On the inside, I hear that raspy voice. "He's going to 'rescue' you, then kill you to keep the door safe from me."
I don't want to believe that. The doc is a protector, isn't he? But he has to protect the door, not me. My heart resists it, but the logic is there; why would he let me live, after I've been corrupted? I look at him. He won't look at me, but I can see on his face that the something is hurting him from the inside. His eyes totally betray what he's going to do. I'm as good as dead.
Something breaks inside, and the anger drains, wholly replaced by terror. Several yards away, lightning strikes the beach. Doc jumps, and I feel the burn of a shallow cut. His eyes turn to me, and I see surprise added to the other emotions. The hand on my shoulder grips harder. In my head, I hear, "Steady. Don't fight him. And for the sake of your life, don't fight me."
And then everything around me blurs, and fades. I hear the Doc shout, feel the blade start to move, and then it's gone. There is nothing but darkness. I can't feel anything. My body feels cold. I can't breathe. Panic rises in my chest, threatening to overcome my thoughts. I'm sure that I'm dead. There was no time, and the doc killed me.
Light floods my vision, and the pinched sensation returns at the base of my skull, then the feeling of my arms twisted behind me. My feet are on the ground, and there's an arm across my chest, a hand gripping my shoulder. We're surrounded by trees. There is no doc.
I feel the proboscis thing slip out of my neck, accompanied by a wet, popping sound. All of the strength leaves my legs, and I start to fall. He lets go of my wrists, and carefully lowers me to the ground, so that I'm on my knees when the nausea hits, very suddenly, and very hard. I lurch forward, retching forcefully, but it's not my lunch that I lose. With each gut-wrenching heave, I spew out hundreds of little black butterflies. Wave after wave of tiny winged insects flies out of my body, spiraling away from me, off into the forest. As I cough out the last ones, spitting the last delicate creature out of my mouth, I realize that the monster who brought me here, from whom I begged for protection, against whom I've fought viciously for days, is holding my hair while I puke. And what's that look on his face? Concern? That can't be right.
I notice that he seems to be getting taller, then realize I'm falling down, but instead, I feel an arm under me, and darkness closes in on my vision again.
Showing posts with label friend. Show all posts
Showing posts with label friend. Show all posts
Have a nice plate of WTF for dinner
I am out with my husband and our friends. We don't go out much just as adults, because we all have kids, but tonight each of us is able because our kids are all with family or friends on overnight visits.
We're someplace that serves food and alcohol, and has music. I am not drinking alcohol, but I've had something to eat. There is a very laid back atmosphere here. Some groups are quieter, just talking and laughing, but others are louder and more noticeable.
We are in a spot that has a restaurant style table and chairs, but also has an easy chair, a love seat, and a coffee table. The restaurant table is low, and so are the chairs that go with it. That makes all of the seating the same height.
We've moved the tables together and are all sitting around them in one big group. We're talking about plans for things our families are going to do during the next few months, trying to coordinate a few dates so we can get together with the kids for something like a cook-out.
The girls all get up to visit the restroom. I am asked to go too. My friends and I don't usually do that. We consider ourselves "big girls" who can go to the restroom by ourselves. I figure there is something they want to talk about.
We go in, and there's no one else in there. One of my friends starts talking about a problem that is kind of embarrassing, that she feels the rest of us who are a little older and more experienced might be able to help with. Each of us relates an experience with that issue, and offers some advice. Our advice all sort of matches up. Even though it's not all the same, each of us says something that would work with what the others are offering.
After the discussion, three of us actually use the stalls. The one who doesn't heads back to the group. The other two finish before me and also head back. I hear more people come in. I come out of the stall, to see my boss from work and a few of her friends looking at me. I had not seen them in the building prior to the trip to the restroom, but they tell me they have been here the whole time, and have been watching for the opportunity to get me alone.
I try to leave the restroom, and the friend who is a police officer grabs me by the arm. I try to pull out of her grip and she moves with my motion, slamming me up against the door. She leans back then, and throws me halfway across the room. Immediately, someone else grabs my arms, pulls them behind my back, and turns me over onto my belly. I can smell pee and chemicals on the floor. I try not to let my face touch it, but someone shoves the back of my head so that my cheek is right on the drain.
I feel a foot slam into my ribs. I can hear my boss yelling obscenities, and then something hits me in the back. I start randomly kicking my feet in as many directions as I can, and find something solid but soft. The hands on my arms let go, and someone falls on my legs, then slides off between them. I turn at the waist to try to get up, but my ribs hurt really bad. At the same time, a fist slams into my face. I pull the leg up on the side where the ribs aren't hurt, and kick the woman on the floor behind me right in the face. It turns out to be the cop.
My boss stomps a foot at my hand, which is on the floor next to her. She misses and hits my wrist. She loses her balance, and I try to scramble away from her. Instead, she regains her balance and kicks me in the ribs again. At the same time, someone else kicks me in the back.
I back up against the divider between two stalls. Someone has a grip on my hair, and pulls me up. I swing wildly at the person, who is off to my left, but instead of hitting her, I end up hitting the door of a stall. My boss drives both of her fists into my gut like a boxer, and I double over and fall to my knees. She begins pounding on my back. Her friends are kicking and punching me too. There are at least four people beating on me. The pain is terrible.
I grab someone's ankle and pull, and hear someone go down with a thud. I scramble out that direction and head for the exit. The group tries to grab me and I kick at them. I open the exit door and crawl out where people can see me. No one is looking at the restroom.
My boss grabs my ankle and tries to drag me back in. I kick her in the jaw, and she falls backward, ripping the seam of my pants and taking my shoe. I see one of her teeth hit the floor. I crawl away from the door, yelling for help, but the music is too loud.
A few patrons finally do see me, but they don't do anything. They just keep eating. They have sympathetic looks on their faces, but I know that they are worried that if they get up, they'll lose their table to another group. I try to get the attention of my friends, but I'm too far away, and they're all talking to each other.
My boss and her friends come out of the restroom. They give me angry looks, but don't do anything because people can see. The patrons who noticed me get knowing looks on their faces, and one of them whispers to the patrons at the next table over. They look, and nod. Someone asks if I am ok. I say I probably need an ambulance. They all agree that yes, I should call an ambulance. No one gets up to help me, but I don't feel bad about it because I know that this is just the way things are handled at this place.
I can see the bartender watching. He is basically just making sure nothing happens out here where the patrons have to see it. He wants no drama in his place. He is also not calling anyone.
I crawl past the first two tables, to where my friends can see me. My boss is following me with a menacing look, but hanging back so that it's not obvious. I try to yell for my friends, but my chest is so sore that I can't get a deep breath. Finally, one of the guys sees me. He nudges my husband, and they get up and run to where I am. The two of them pick me up and carry me over to the love seat, where the group asks me what happened.
I tell the whole thing, explaining that the only people in the restroom were my boss and her friends, but I couldn't see which of them was hitting me at any given time except for a few of the blows dealt by my boss. My friends decide that we need to call the police.
When the police arrive, they take a statement from me, and tell me they're going to help, but then they head over to the bar and start drinking instead. Seeing their uninvolvement, my boss casually walks over to the group and starts spitting on me. When my friends try to block her, she spits over and around them. A couple of friends throw things at her, both of which hit her in the face and make a mess on her shirt. She takes a moment to grab napkins and try to clean herself, and my friends try to get me out of the building.
The door to the building is locked, and we can't get out. My ribs and back are hurting really badly, and standing makes them worse, so my husband picks me up to carry me. I wrap my arms around him and try to hold on, but using those muscles is really painful. He tells me he's got me. At the same time, my boss comes around the side, grabs my arm, and gives it a good yank. I feel myself almost fall. Another of my friends turns around and punches her in the face, and she backs off for a moment.
Her friends aren't helping, but they're watching. I can see them over by the restroom. She yells for them, and they start to come over. My friends yell to the police, "Why aren't you doing anything?" The police, who have turned toward us and have been watching, write a few things down in a notebook, and then just sit there. I realize they're documenting everything that is happening, and tell my friends to not hit back. Instead, when my boss reaches for me again, I yell at her to stop and smack her hand away. She looks offended and indignant, and reaches again, as if to slap me in the face. I again slap her hand out of the way. The bartender yells my name and says no fighting. I see the cops write that down.
I hear an ambulance arrive outside, and realize that one of my friends has called for medical help. I tell everyone, "when the EMS opens the door to come in, we need to go out and shut it. That way, she'll be locked in here, and we can escape."
The door opens, and I see people in scrubs. They burst into the building with a gurney, pushing past us. My husband puts me on the gurney. One friend tells one of the EMTs that she thinks my ribs are broken on the left side. Another is describing the assault to another EMT. While the door is still open and everyone is distracted, another friend of mine shoves my boss outside and slams it in her face. I can hear her pounding to get back in, but the friend is leaning on it. At that moment, the cops get up and arrest the bartender. They ignore my boss's friends.
One of the EMTs begins taking my vital signs. A cuff is wrapped around my arm to get my blood pressure, and a thermometer is placed in my mouth. I see the door start to open, despite my friend's efforts, and my boss tries to come back inside. When that happens, one of the cops breaks away from the arrest of the bartender, runs over to the door, and slaps handcuffs on my boss. He steps outside with her, and I can hear him reading her rights. She is yelling back at him that it's my fault for being there, not knowing my place, and expecting to not get kicked around.
I hear one of the EMTs tell my husband, "Your wife's blood pressure is really high." I think, that can't be right. I have abnormally low blood pressure. It's always been that way. I turn to say so to the EMT, when I feel something jab me in the ribs.
This is when I woke. The jab hurt so bad that it jolted me out of the dream.
Oddly, I am in a severe amount of pain this morning. My ribs really do hurt like they're broken on the left side, where I was kicked in the dream. My back is killing me. It feels like if I could just pop it, it would feel better, but twisting and stretching (or even taking a deep breath in, or breathing out too far) hurt my ribs, right under my left breast. I've been a little sore for a few days after having slept wrong, but not like this. I really do feel like someone beat the crap out of me.
I know the dream was stress related, but I suspect that the pain existed prior to it and the stress manifested itself by creating that story in response.
I recognized the people in the dream. My friends were my real friends. My husband was himself, too. So was my boss. Her friends, though, were actually people who are with our company, most of whom have been in our store. One is a former manager. Two others are former district managers, only in the dream they were women, but in waking life they are men. The voice of the friend who is a cop was the voice of the human resources manager. I've never seen her, but I'm really familiar with that voice. My boss really does have a friend who is a cop, but she was not involved in the dream. The bartender was the current district manager.
The police in the dream weren't the local police, either. I know those guys. They come into the store all the time and get coffee and snacks (not donuts quite so often as you might think, but a LOT of coffee.) In the dream, the officer who initiated the arrest of the district manager, then broke off to arrest my boss, is the case worker handling my unsafe working conditions complaint to OSHA, and the retaliation complaint I had to file after my employer kept me off of the schedule for a couple of months following the inspection.
The company has been notified of the complaint, and my boss has been further retaliating by creating a hostile work environment. She has threatened me and is trying to push me out of my job. It's not a fabulous job, and if the job market were better, I'd just quit and go work somewhere else. However, I'm in an area with crazy high unemployment. I've been looking for a job for nearly three years, with no success. I have to have the paycheck, so I can't afford to leave or be fired, and my boss knows that.
Two days ago, the district manager let me know that the harassment would be condoned by the company, and I was "not permitted" to document and report it. I've let my case worker know what he said, and am waiting to find out what to do next. I may end up having to file yet another complaint. In the meantime, the harassment continues. I'm continuing to document and report, but trying to keep my boss from seeing me do it. This situation is really getting to me.
I dozed off again after that, but couldn't stay asleep. I kept having the feeling that something was in the room with me, as happens with Sleep Paralysis. When I started to dream again, it was a repeat of the one with something trying to drag me off of the bed and into the closet. I ended up dragging myself out of bed and downstairs for coffee.
I am so tired!
We're someplace that serves food and alcohol, and has music. I am not drinking alcohol, but I've had something to eat. There is a very laid back atmosphere here. Some groups are quieter, just talking and laughing, but others are louder and more noticeable.
We are in a spot that has a restaurant style table and chairs, but also has an easy chair, a love seat, and a coffee table. The restaurant table is low, and so are the chairs that go with it. That makes all of the seating the same height.
We've moved the tables together and are all sitting around them in one big group. We're talking about plans for things our families are going to do during the next few months, trying to coordinate a few dates so we can get together with the kids for something like a cook-out.
The girls all get up to visit the restroom. I am asked to go too. My friends and I don't usually do that. We consider ourselves "big girls" who can go to the restroom by ourselves. I figure there is something they want to talk about.
We go in, and there's no one else in there. One of my friends starts talking about a problem that is kind of embarrassing, that she feels the rest of us who are a little older and more experienced might be able to help with. Each of us relates an experience with that issue, and offers some advice. Our advice all sort of matches up. Even though it's not all the same, each of us says something that would work with what the others are offering.
After the discussion, three of us actually use the stalls. The one who doesn't heads back to the group. The other two finish before me and also head back. I hear more people come in. I come out of the stall, to see my boss from work and a few of her friends looking at me. I had not seen them in the building prior to the trip to the restroom, but they tell me they have been here the whole time, and have been watching for the opportunity to get me alone.
I try to leave the restroom, and the friend who is a police officer grabs me by the arm. I try to pull out of her grip and she moves with my motion, slamming me up against the door. She leans back then, and throws me halfway across the room. Immediately, someone else grabs my arms, pulls them behind my back, and turns me over onto my belly. I can smell pee and chemicals on the floor. I try not to let my face touch it, but someone shoves the back of my head so that my cheek is right on the drain.
I feel a foot slam into my ribs. I can hear my boss yelling obscenities, and then something hits me in the back. I start randomly kicking my feet in as many directions as I can, and find something solid but soft. The hands on my arms let go, and someone falls on my legs, then slides off between them. I turn at the waist to try to get up, but my ribs hurt really bad. At the same time, a fist slams into my face. I pull the leg up on the side where the ribs aren't hurt, and kick the woman on the floor behind me right in the face. It turns out to be the cop.
My boss stomps a foot at my hand, which is on the floor next to her. She misses and hits my wrist. She loses her balance, and I try to scramble away from her. Instead, she regains her balance and kicks me in the ribs again. At the same time, someone else kicks me in the back.
I back up against the divider between two stalls. Someone has a grip on my hair, and pulls me up. I swing wildly at the person, who is off to my left, but instead of hitting her, I end up hitting the door of a stall. My boss drives both of her fists into my gut like a boxer, and I double over and fall to my knees. She begins pounding on my back. Her friends are kicking and punching me too. There are at least four people beating on me. The pain is terrible.
I grab someone's ankle and pull, and hear someone go down with a thud. I scramble out that direction and head for the exit. The group tries to grab me and I kick at them. I open the exit door and crawl out where people can see me. No one is looking at the restroom.
My boss grabs my ankle and tries to drag me back in. I kick her in the jaw, and she falls backward, ripping the seam of my pants and taking my shoe. I see one of her teeth hit the floor. I crawl away from the door, yelling for help, but the music is too loud.
A few patrons finally do see me, but they don't do anything. They just keep eating. They have sympathetic looks on their faces, but I know that they are worried that if they get up, they'll lose their table to another group. I try to get the attention of my friends, but I'm too far away, and they're all talking to each other.
My boss and her friends come out of the restroom. They give me angry looks, but don't do anything because people can see. The patrons who noticed me get knowing looks on their faces, and one of them whispers to the patrons at the next table over. They look, and nod. Someone asks if I am ok. I say I probably need an ambulance. They all agree that yes, I should call an ambulance. No one gets up to help me, but I don't feel bad about it because I know that this is just the way things are handled at this place.
I can see the bartender watching. He is basically just making sure nothing happens out here where the patrons have to see it. He wants no drama in his place. He is also not calling anyone.
I crawl past the first two tables, to where my friends can see me. My boss is following me with a menacing look, but hanging back so that it's not obvious. I try to yell for my friends, but my chest is so sore that I can't get a deep breath. Finally, one of the guys sees me. He nudges my husband, and they get up and run to where I am. The two of them pick me up and carry me over to the love seat, where the group asks me what happened.
I tell the whole thing, explaining that the only people in the restroom were my boss and her friends, but I couldn't see which of them was hitting me at any given time except for a few of the blows dealt by my boss. My friends decide that we need to call the police.
When the police arrive, they take a statement from me, and tell me they're going to help, but then they head over to the bar and start drinking instead. Seeing their uninvolvement, my boss casually walks over to the group and starts spitting on me. When my friends try to block her, she spits over and around them. A couple of friends throw things at her, both of which hit her in the face and make a mess on her shirt. She takes a moment to grab napkins and try to clean herself, and my friends try to get me out of the building.
The door to the building is locked, and we can't get out. My ribs and back are hurting really badly, and standing makes them worse, so my husband picks me up to carry me. I wrap my arms around him and try to hold on, but using those muscles is really painful. He tells me he's got me. At the same time, my boss comes around the side, grabs my arm, and gives it a good yank. I feel myself almost fall. Another of my friends turns around and punches her in the face, and she backs off for a moment.
Her friends aren't helping, but they're watching. I can see them over by the restroom. She yells for them, and they start to come over. My friends yell to the police, "Why aren't you doing anything?" The police, who have turned toward us and have been watching, write a few things down in a notebook, and then just sit there. I realize they're documenting everything that is happening, and tell my friends to not hit back. Instead, when my boss reaches for me again, I yell at her to stop and smack her hand away. She looks offended and indignant, and reaches again, as if to slap me in the face. I again slap her hand out of the way. The bartender yells my name and says no fighting. I see the cops write that down.
I hear an ambulance arrive outside, and realize that one of my friends has called for medical help. I tell everyone, "when the EMS opens the door to come in, we need to go out and shut it. That way, she'll be locked in here, and we can escape."
The door opens, and I see people in scrubs. They burst into the building with a gurney, pushing past us. My husband puts me on the gurney. One friend tells one of the EMTs that she thinks my ribs are broken on the left side. Another is describing the assault to another EMT. While the door is still open and everyone is distracted, another friend of mine shoves my boss outside and slams it in her face. I can hear her pounding to get back in, but the friend is leaning on it. At that moment, the cops get up and arrest the bartender. They ignore my boss's friends.
One of the EMTs begins taking my vital signs. A cuff is wrapped around my arm to get my blood pressure, and a thermometer is placed in my mouth. I see the door start to open, despite my friend's efforts, and my boss tries to come back inside. When that happens, one of the cops breaks away from the arrest of the bartender, runs over to the door, and slaps handcuffs on my boss. He steps outside with her, and I can hear him reading her rights. She is yelling back at him that it's my fault for being there, not knowing my place, and expecting to not get kicked around.
I hear one of the EMTs tell my husband, "Your wife's blood pressure is really high." I think, that can't be right. I have abnormally low blood pressure. It's always been that way. I turn to say so to the EMT, when I feel something jab me in the ribs.
This is when I woke. The jab hurt so bad that it jolted me out of the dream.
Oddly, I am in a severe amount of pain this morning. My ribs really do hurt like they're broken on the left side, where I was kicked in the dream. My back is killing me. It feels like if I could just pop it, it would feel better, but twisting and stretching (or even taking a deep breath in, or breathing out too far) hurt my ribs, right under my left breast. I've been a little sore for a few days after having slept wrong, but not like this. I really do feel like someone beat the crap out of me.
I know the dream was stress related, but I suspect that the pain existed prior to it and the stress manifested itself by creating that story in response.
I recognized the people in the dream. My friends were my real friends. My husband was himself, too. So was my boss. Her friends, though, were actually people who are with our company, most of whom have been in our store. One is a former manager. Two others are former district managers, only in the dream they were women, but in waking life they are men. The voice of the friend who is a cop was the voice of the human resources manager. I've never seen her, but I'm really familiar with that voice. My boss really does have a friend who is a cop, but she was not involved in the dream. The bartender was the current district manager.
The police in the dream weren't the local police, either. I know those guys. They come into the store all the time and get coffee and snacks (not donuts quite so often as you might think, but a LOT of coffee.) In the dream, the officer who initiated the arrest of the district manager, then broke off to arrest my boss, is the case worker handling my unsafe working conditions complaint to OSHA, and the retaliation complaint I had to file after my employer kept me off of the schedule for a couple of months following the inspection.
The company has been notified of the complaint, and my boss has been further retaliating by creating a hostile work environment. She has threatened me and is trying to push me out of my job. It's not a fabulous job, and if the job market were better, I'd just quit and go work somewhere else. However, I'm in an area with crazy high unemployment. I've been looking for a job for nearly three years, with no success. I have to have the paycheck, so I can't afford to leave or be fired, and my boss knows that.
Two days ago, the district manager let me know that the harassment would be condoned by the company, and I was "not permitted" to document and report it. I've let my case worker know what he said, and am waiting to find out what to do next. I may end up having to file yet another complaint. In the meantime, the harassment continues. I'm continuing to document and report, but trying to keep my boss from seeing me do it. This situation is really getting to me.
I dozed off again after that, but couldn't stay asleep. I kept having the feeling that something was in the room with me, as happens with Sleep Paralysis. When I started to dream again, it was a repeat of the one with something trying to drag me off of the bed and into the closet. I ended up dragging myself out of bed and downstairs for coffee.
I am so tired!
The Dorky Knight
Last night a friend was subjected to a baseless but very hurtful personal attack. The worst for her was that it was done anonymously, so even though she has some idea of who it wasn't, there's no way to be sure who it was. The person really hit below the belt, attacking an aspect of my friend's life about which everyone with the same aspect is going to be sensitive, and in which my friend has had enough struggles to shake her confidence in herself, even though she is actually going far above and beyond the average in that area. The attack was totally unjustified and wrong, and the person I think it comes from has no business pointing fingers, as she is not handling that aspect of her own life with much honesty. If it is who I think it is, I'm convinced that the attack was her way of making herself feel better by tearing down someone who she can at least pretend is doing worse.
I didn't realize how mad I was about this until this morning, after I woke from the following dream.
My friend and I are at the Ohio Renaissance Faire. We've both gone in garb, but this year I decided not to go the girly route. While my friend is dressed beautifully in a full skirt, blouse, corset, cloak, and sexy boots, I'm in pants instead. I've put on a chainmail shirt, and I've got a sword on a belt and a shield strapped to my back. I look like I am ready to kick some ruffian butt.
We're walking around looking at stuff in the shops. Our kids are with us, but our husbands aren't. They are at the faire, but they've gone to check something out that doesn't interest us. We have a plan to meet for lunch shortly and all go watch shows together.
As we turn to leave the store we're in, the kids ask to visit a specific shop that has padded toys that mimic weapons, so kids can pretend to be knights of old or play stories like Robin Hood without hurting each other. The stores and stages circle around the border of the property and cross in the middle, almost loosely forming kind of a squished figure 8. We have to cross the grass to get to that store. We talk about walking the rest of the way around to get to it, but none of the stores in that direction interest us, so we start cutting across the grass.
Immediately, a former friend of ours jumps in front of us. She is wearing a long dark cloak over a very skimpy dress. She has her hood up, casting a shadow over her face. On her hands are really long, dark velvety gloves. She physically looks different than normal, like she's lost a bunch of weight, even though she didn't start out with any extra. Now, she's gaunt and creepy looking: Bimbette, the wicked sorceress of ill repute.
She tells us we can't go that way because that's the way the kids want to go, and you can't just give kids what they want.
My friend points out that we are going this way because we don't have any interest in the rest of the stores along the loop, but I don't think that's necessary. It isn't this woman's business if we want to do something the kids want. I tell her to buzz off.
Bimbette looks annoyed, and starts shouting that we should be locked up for breaking "the rules." There are no rules at the Ren Faire about which direction you may walk, and there are lots of other people in the grassy area. (Oddly, none of them are paying any attention to us.) Whatever "rules" she's talking about are all in her head.
We ignore her and try to walk around her, and she slaps my friend across the face with her gloved hand. I reach for that hand, but she draws it back quickly and steps away. On my friend's face is a red mark from the slap. It starts to spread, and I realize that Bimbette had something nasty on the glove. It looks like it is causing an allergic reaction. Somehow, I am sure she has an antidote to it in one of the little pouches hanging on her belt.
I demand to know what Bimbette has put on my friend's face. She says it's her "just desserts" for not fitting the mold. That makes me really mad, and I draw my sword. I demand that Bimbette give the antidote, or I will cut her down.
We're no longer at a modern Renaissance Faire. It's darker, and there are more trees. The buildings are more solid, and the shop keepers look scared. There is no one around us who isn't dressed like us. Off to the side are three people imprisoned in stocks. Every so often, someone throws a rotten vegetable at them. Signs identify them as having offended the queen.
Bimbette vanishes with a poof, and I am left standing in the square with my sword drawn like an idiot. My friend's face has hives on it. I quickly grab her and take her to the nearest apothecary to see if the proprietor has anything to soothe her skin. Inside the shop, I find another friend of ours (whom we haven't seen in years) crushing dried herbs into a powder. We show him the reaction, and tell him how it happened. He immediately identifies the poison as the sting of the worker queen. He tells us the worker queen is an ordinary worker bee that thinks it's the queen bee of the hive. It lays eggs, steals royal jelly when the actual queen is not looking, and refuses to do any work even though it really is just a worker bee. It will protect the hive if attacked, and its poison is a very potent irritant because of its diet. He says he can temporarily fix the damage, but we need to go get a special root in order for him to make the antidote.
My friend's daughter is in tears at this point. She thinks that the slap is her fault, because she was the one who wanted to go to the toy shop. Her brother and my son are trying to make her feel better by clowning around to make her laugh, but they're too close to a bunch of glass jars full of ingredients, and we're afraid they're going to knock stuff over. We both tell them we know they mean well, but there are too many breakables, and to cut it out, and they stop. My friend puts her arms around her daughter, looks her in the eyes, and says "This is not your fault."
Immediately, Bimbette's disembodied voice fills the room. "One strike! Unequal treatment! Unfair!"
My friend's hives turn into boils, until I yell, "Bullshit!" Then, they go back to being hives. It feels like Bimbette just cast a spell, and I just cast the counterspell to it.
The chemist mixes up a cream. In it, he puts some powder from a few different jars. I can't read the writing on most of them, but I notice that one says "honesty" on it. I get the mental image of a plant that looks just like a violet, except the petals are white. He whispers over the cream as he stirs in the powders, then asks if he can have one of the daughter's tears. My friend pulls the child to her protectively, but the girl says ok, if it will help Mommy. She leans forward, and the chemist uses the bowl to wipe a tear from her cheek. He mixes that into the cream and then tells my friend to rub some onto the affected area. My friend doesn't want to put her daughter's tears on her face until the girl says, "No, Mommy, those aren't bad tears. Those are tears of responsibility. I can take responsibility even if it's not my fault." The girl then takes a finger, rubs the cream on her mother's face, and then both kids kiss where the hives are. The hives shrink down, leaving just the original bright red hand print.
The chemist smiles, and says "You are almost right. Those are tears of epiphany. You had an epiphany when you realized that responsibility and fault are not the same thing. Your epiphany helps, and the kisses helped even more." Then he looks at my friend and says "This won't completely get rid of the poison. It will only slow it down. If you don't have an antidote, the hives will come back. You need your own cure."
Then to me, he says, "Find this flower," and shows me a picture of a tall, leafy plant with big, floppy orange flower petals. It looks like a super-sized lily. "The roots of the plant grow down into the ground, put shoots up a few feet away from the central stalk. Those shoots are roots, too. You need to collect one of those and bring it back to me." He nods at my friend. "She has to harvest it, but she needs a protector. The woods are dangerous."
It is time for us to meet the guys. We decide that it won't be safe for the kids to come into the woods with us, so when we get to our meeting spot, we quickly explain the situation and ask if they mind us going. The guys agree that the woods would be an unsafe place for us to take the kids, especially since we would be distracted from them by our mission. They decide to take them to the toy shop where we were originally headed, while we go find that root. From behind us, we hear, "Strike two! Dumping the kids off on your husband!" We turn, and there is Bimbette.
Even though I am leaving my son with my husband, and the decision was basically by committee, she is only looking at my friend. My friend shouts back at her, "What would you have me do, risk their lives in the woods where there are wild animals? That's just stupid!" Bimbette doesn't answer, but instead throws a dart (like you would throw at a dart board in a bar, but bigger) at my friend. I use my sword like a baseball bat to deflect it back at her. It sticks in her arm. Again, I demand the antidote, but she throws a glass ball on the ground and disappears in a puff of smoke.
We kiss our husbands and kids goodbye and head toward the city gate.
* * * * * *
We are on a thin dirt pathway in an area so heavily wooded that it is dark as twilight, even though it's the middle of the day. I have my sword drawn, and am looking around. We've been walking on this path for a bit, and it feels like something is following us. We're looking for the plant the chemist told us to find. We've seen a lot of other plants, but none with the flower he showed us. Mostly we are running into ivy plants and bushes.
We hear movement in the underbrush close to the path behind us, several yards back. I turn toward the sound and speak to whatever is in that direction. "We know you are there. You might as well just come out." When nothing does, we decide it must be an animal, and we cautiously walk on for several feet. I keep hearing the movement, always the same distance behind us. Finally, I decide to go back and check. There are paw prints in the dirt off the side of the path, but they look old. The dirt is dry, but the prints look like they were made when it was muddy.
We turn to leave, when a huge cat jumps out at us. It isn't a regular big cat, like a mountain lion or anything. It looks more like a giant house cat. It is gray with white splotches and short hair, and it's wearing a pink collar. I knock my friend to the ground and roll us out from under the cat's paws, then slash at it with my sword, slicing open its nose. The cat growls at us loudly, then meows. It sounds like a normal house cat, only a lot louder. I shout at it to scat, and it hisses. I grab my shield and hand it to my friend. The cat pats at us with a paw, claws extended. My friend smacks the shield into the paw, as I jab at it from the side. The cat jumps back and hunkers down with its ears back. We move away up the path, facing the cat. Its tail is twitching, so we stop and set ourselves for the next attack.
When the cat pounces, I jab my sword all the way into the bottom of one paw, as my friend smacks its nose with the shield, really hard. At the same time, I notice there is a pendant on the collar. I recognize the pendant as belonging to Bimbette. The cat yowls and runs away. Looking in the direction it is running, we spot a flash of bright orange. We go through the pathway the cat has created through the underbrush, and find the flower we're looking for. Digging around, we find the roots sticking up out of the ground. I get a little knife out of the pack I have around my waist, and hand it to my friend. She cuts one root off at ground level. We empty a small bag of compost over the cut root so that it will have something to feed on as it grows back.
We return to the apothecary, where our families are waiting for us. The chemist takes the root and chops it into tiny pieces. These, he mashes into a paste, which he mixes with the cream from before. The mixture kind of melts into an odd blue liquid. The chemist pours it into a cup, hands it to my friend, and tells her to drink it. My friend's kids admonish her to drink every drop, because "you know how important medicine is, and we want you to be ok."
Bimbette appears in a flash, shouting "Strike three! Not being ok in front of your kids! Making them feel like they need to take care of you!" I see her and draw my sword. She reaches for the glass, but my friend holds it behind the shield. Bimbette yells "You can't have that! It's not yours! I didn't give you permission to feel better!" She tries to reach around the shield, and I cut off her arm. Instead of bleeding, the arm just melts into the floor, and the stump closes over with some kind of dark goo. My friend looks at Bimbette and says, "I don't need your permission." She drinks the blue liquid, and the red hand print on her face disappears.
We start talking about which show we're going to. Bimbette is livid, screaming that she's still there, and we have no right to ignore her. I tell her to can it, and we start to walk away. She throws another dart, but this time my friend just bats it away with the shield. I decide she should keep the shield in case Bimbette hasn't given up.
* * * * * * * *
We're back at the Ren, sitting in the audience in the mud pit waiting for the show to start. We've sat closer to the back to avoid getting too muddy. My friend has my shield strapped to her back. The first guy comes out onto the stage. I feel a sense of relief and happy anticipation.
This is where the dream ended. I went on to dream about something else, but I can't remember much about it, just something about a card game at my friend's house. It's something we do a lot, so that's kind of ordinary.
I'm pretty sure the dream is an indication that I want to find some way to negate the unmerited "slap in the face" that the person gave my friend. I know that the daughter would feel responsible for my friend's hurt if she knew about the attack, but it really isn't her fault. Recently, I've seen her demonstrate some maturity in understanding things about herself and about life, even though she's still just a kid, so that fits the dream, too. I see her trying to be a more responsible person, even though that's hard for her.
I'm mad enough to want to hit Bimbette (or whoever the guilty party is) back for what she did, or I wouldn't have dreamed about cutting off her arm. The attack really was very catty, so I guess that explains the feline attack. The cure in the woods, though, I think represented my feeling that my friend has to look within herself to find the answer. She knows that she is not what Bimbette (or whoever it was) called her. I know that she just needs to take ownership of her sense of self-worth, and not let someone damage it with such a cheap pot-shot.
Also, now I really want to go see the mud show at the Ren!
I didn't realize how mad I was about this until this morning, after I woke from the following dream.
My friend and I are at the Ohio Renaissance Faire. We've both gone in garb, but this year I decided not to go the girly route. While my friend is dressed beautifully in a full skirt, blouse, corset, cloak, and sexy boots, I'm in pants instead. I've put on a chainmail shirt, and I've got a sword on a belt and a shield strapped to my back. I look like I am ready to kick some ruffian butt.
We're walking around looking at stuff in the shops. Our kids are with us, but our husbands aren't. They are at the faire, but they've gone to check something out that doesn't interest us. We have a plan to meet for lunch shortly and all go watch shows together.
As we turn to leave the store we're in, the kids ask to visit a specific shop that has padded toys that mimic weapons, so kids can pretend to be knights of old or play stories like Robin Hood without hurting each other. The stores and stages circle around the border of the property and cross in the middle, almost loosely forming kind of a squished figure 8. We have to cross the grass to get to that store. We talk about walking the rest of the way around to get to it, but none of the stores in that direction interest us, so we start cutting across the grass.
Immediately, a former friend of ours jumps in front of us. She is wearing a long dark cloak over a very skimpy dress. She has her hood up, casting a shadow over her face. On her hands are really long, dark velvety gloves. She physically looks different than normal, like she's lost a bunch of weight, even though she didn't start out with any extra. Now, she's gaunt and creepy looking: Bimbette, the wicked sorceress of ill repute.
She tells us we can't go that way because that's the way the kids want to go, and you can't just give kids what they want.
My friend points out that we are going this way because we don't have any interest in the rest of the stores along the loop, but I don't think that's necessary. It isn't this woman's business if we want to do something the kids want. I tell her to buzz off.
Bimbette looks annoyed, and starts shouting that we should be locked up for breaking "the rules." There are no rules at the Ren Faire about which direction you may walk, and there are lots of other people in the grassy area. (Oddly, none of them are paying any attention to us.) Whatever "rules" she's talking about are all in her head.
We ignore her and try to walk around her, and she slaps my friend across the face with her gloved hand. I reach for that hand, but she draws it back quickly and steps away. On my friend's face is a red mark from the slap. It starts to spread, and I realize that Bimbette had something nasty on the glove. It looks like it is causing an allergic reaction. Somehow, I am sure she has an antidote to it in one of the little pouches hanging on her belt.
I demand to know what Bimbette has put on my friend's face. She says it's her "just desserts" for not fitting the mold. That makes me really mad, and I draw my sword. I demand that Bimbette give the antidote, or I will cut her down.
We're no longer at a modern Renaissance Faire. It's darker, and there are more trees. The buildings are more solid, and the shop keepers look scared. There is no one around us who isn't dressed like us. Off to the side are three people imprisoned in stocks. Every so often, someone throws a rotten vegetable at them. Signs identify them as having offended the queen.
Bimbette vanishes with a poof, and I am left standing in the square with my sword drawn like an idiot. My friend's face has hives on it. I quickly grab her and take her to the nearest apothecary to see if the proprietor has anything to soothe her skin. Inside the shop, I find another friend of ours (whom we haven't seen in years) crushing dried herbs into a powder. We show him the reaction, and tell him how it happened. He immediately identifies the poison as the sting of the worker queen. He tells us the worker queen is an ordinary worker bee that thinks it's the queen bee of the hive. It lays eggs, steals royal jelly when the actual queen is not looking, and refuses to do any work even though it really is just a worker bee. It will protect the hive if attacked, and its poison is a very potent irritant because of its diet. He says he can temporarily fix the damage, but we need to go get a special root in order for him to make the antidote.
My friend's daughter is in tears at this point. She thinks that the slap is her fault, because she was the one who wanted to go to the toy shop. Her brother and my son are trying to make her feel better by clowning around to make her laugh, but they're too close to a bunch of glass jars full of ingredients, and we're afraid they're going to knock stuff over. We both tell them we know they mean well, but there are too many breakables, and to cut it out, and they stop. My friend puts her arms around her daughter, looks her in the eyes, and says "This is not your fault."
Immediately, Bimbette's disembodied voice fills the room. "One strike! Unequal treatment! Unfair!"
My friend's hives turn into boils, until I yell, "Bullshit!" Then, they go back to being hives. It feels like Bimbette just cast a spell, and I just cast the counterspell to it.
The chemist mixes up a cream. In it, he puts some powder from a few different jars. I can't read the writing on most of them, but I notice that one says "honesty" on it. I get the mental image of a plant that looks just like a violet, except the petals are white. He whispers over the cream as he stirs in the powders, then asks if he can have one of the daughter's tears. My friend pulls the child to her protectively, but the girl says ok, if it will help Mommy. She leans forward, and the chemist uses the bowl to wipe a tear from her cheek. He mixes that into the cream and then tells my friend to rub some onto the affected area. My friend doesn't want to put her daughter's tears on her face until the girl says, "No, Mommy, those aren't bad tears. Those are tears of responsibility. I can take responsibility even if it's not my fault." The girl then takes a finger, rubs the cream on her mother's face, and then both kids kiss where the hives are. The hives shrink down, leaving just the original bright red hand print.
The chemist smiles, and says "You are almost right. Those are tears of epiphany. You had an epiphany when you realized that responsibility and fault are not the same thing. Your epiphany helps, and the kisses helped even more." Then he looks at my friend and says "This won't completely get rid of the poison. It will only slow it down. If you don't have an antidote, the hives will come back. You need your own cure."
Then to me, he says, "Find this flower," and shows me a picture of a tall, leafy plant with big, floppy orange flower petals. It looks like a super-sized lily. "The roots of the plant grow down into the ground, put shoots up a few feet away from the central stalk. Those shoots are roots, too. You need to collect one of those and bring it back to me." He nods at my friend. "She has to harvest it, but she needs a protector. The woods are dangerous."
It is time for us to meet the guys. We decide that it won't be safe for the kids to come into the woods with us, so when we get to our meeting spot, we quickly explain the situation and ask if they mind us going. The guys agree that the woods would be an unsafe place for us to take the kids, especially since we would be distracted from them by our mission. They decide to take them to the toy shop where we were originally headed, while we go find that root. From behind us, we hear, "Strike two! Dumping the kids off on your husband!" We turn, and there is Bimbette.
Even though I am leaving my son with my husband, and the decision was basically by committee, she is only looking at my friend. My friend shouts back at her, "What would you have me do, risk their lives in the woods where there are wild animals? That's just stupid!" Bimbette doesn't answer, but instead throws a dart (like you would throw at a dart board in a bar, but bigger) at my friend. I use my sword like a baseball bat to deflect it back at her. It sticks in her arm. Again, I demand the antidote, but she throws a glass ball on the ground and disappears in a puff of smoke.
We kiss our husbands and kids goodbye and head toward the city gate.
* * * * * *
We are on a thin dirt pathway in an area so heavily wooded that it is dark as twilight, even though it's the middle of the day. I have my sword drawn, and am looking around. We've been walking on this path for a bit, and it feels like something is following us. We're looking for the plant the chemist told us to find. We've seen a lot of other plants, but none with the flower he showed us. Mostly we are running into ivy plants and bushes.
We hear movement in the underbrush close to the path behind us, several yards back. I turn toward the sound and speak to whatever is in that direction. "We know you are there. You might as well just come out." When nothing does, we decide it must be an animal, and we cautiously walk on for several feet. I keep hearing the movement, always the same distance behind us. Finally, I decide to go back and check. There are paw prints in the dirt off the side of the path, but they look old. The dirt is dry, but the prints look like they were made when it was muddy.
We turn to leave, when a huge cat jumps out at us. It isn't a regular big cat, like a mountain lion or anything. It looks more like a giant house cat. It is gray with white splotches and short hair, and it's wearing a pink collar. I knock my friend to the ground and roll us out from under the cat's paws, then slash at it with my sword, slicing open its nose. The cat growls at us loudly, then meows. It sounds like a normal house cat, only a lot louder. I shout at it to scat, and it hisses. I grab my shield and hand it to my friend. The cat pats at us with a paw, claws extended. My friend smacks the shield into the paw, as I jab at it from the side. The cat jumps back and hunkers down with its ears back. We move away up the path, facing the cat. Its tail is twitching, so we stop and set ourselves for the next attack.
When the cat pounces, I jab my sword all the way into the bottom of one paw, as my friend smacks its nose with the shield, really hard. At the same time, I notice there is a pendant on the collar. I recognize the pendant as belonging to Bimbette. The cat yowls and runs away. Looking in the direction it is running, we spot a flash of bright orange. We go through the pathway the cat has created through the underbrush, and find the flower we're looking for. Digging around, we find the roots sticking up out of the ground. I get a little knife out of the pack I have around my waist, and hand it to my friend. She cuts one root off at ground level. We empty a small bag of compost over the cut root so that it will have something to feed on as it grows back.
We return to the apothecary, where our families are waiting for us. The chemist takes the root and chops it into tiny pieces. These, he mashes into a paste, which he mixes with the cream from before. The mixture kind of melts into an odd blue liquid. The chemist pours it into a cup, hands it to my friend, and tells her to drink it. My friend's kids admonish her to drink every drop, because "you know how important medicine is, and we want you to be ok."
Bimbette appears in a flash, shouting "Strike three! Not being ok in front of your kids! Making them feel like they need to take care of you!" I see her and draw my sword. She reaches for the glass, but my friend holds it behind the shield. Bimbette yells "You can't have that! It's not yours! I didn't give you permission to feel better!" She tries to reach around the shield, and I cut off her arm. Instead of bleeding, the arm just melts into the floor, and the stump closes over with some kind of dark goo. My friend looks at Bimbette and says, "I don't need your permission." She drinks the blue liquid, and the red hand print on her face disappears.
We start talking about which show we're going to. Bimbette is livid, screaming that she's still there, and we have no right to ignore her. I tell her to can it, and we start to walk away. She throws another dart, but this time my friend just bats it away with the shield. I decide she should keep the shield in case Bimbette hasn't given up.
* * * * * * * *
We're back at the Ren, sitting in the audience in the mud pit waiting for the show to start. We've sat closer to the back to avoid getting too muddy. My friend has my shield strapped to her back. The first guy comes out onto the stage. I feel a sense of relief and happy anticipation.
This is where the dream ended. I went on to dream about something else, but I can't remember much about it, just something about a card game at my friend's house. It's something we do a lot, so that's kind of ordinary.
I'm pretty sure the dream is an indication that I want to find some way to negate the unmerited "slap in the face" that the person gave my friend. I know that the daughter would feel responsible for my friend's hurt if she knew about the attack, but it really isn't her fault. Recently, I've seen her demonstrate some maturity in understanding things about herself and about life, even though she's still just a kid, so that fits the dream, too. I see her trying to be a more responsible person, even though that's hard for her.
I'm mad enough to want to hit Bimbette (or whoever the guilty party is) back for what she did, or I wouldn't have dreamed about cutting off her arm. The attack really was very catty, so I guess that explains the feline attack. The cure in the woods, though, I think represented my feeling that my friend has to look within herself to find the answer. She knows that she is not what Bimbette (or whoever it was) called her. I know that she just needs to take ownership of her sense of self-worth, and not let someone damage it with such a cheap pot-shot.
Also, now I really want to go see the mud show at the Ren!
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