Dream of:18 August 2007 "Being Strangled"
I was in a two-story frame house which I owned and was working on in Portsmouth. My father, my mother, and my sister were living with me in the house. I had been working in a downstairs room, but at the moment I had three big machines (something like sanders) which I was using to redo the wood floor in one of the upstairs rooms. The whole room was messed up and electric cords were strung about.
I walked outside into the hallway. Close to the stairs I pried up a board about 30 centimeters square. Underneath the board was a heat register through which heat was flowing into the upstairs. Apparently someone had put the board over the heat register. I looked down into the heat duct, thinking I might find something there, but the only thing I saw was a little white handle. On the back of the board, however, was some writing which looked like a little poem, the title of which was "Doubt." I looked at the board more closely and saw it was the type of little board which could be bought in novelty stores with little verses on them, so I didn't think it was anything important.
I walked into my mother's bedroom and found her there. She was about 40 years old. We were expecting my father to come home and I knew he was going to be extremely angry about the repairs I was making in the house. I told her it was only out of the goodness of my heart that I was letting my father live in the house. Of course he didn't appreciate anything.
My mother had a little stand with three shelves on it. She put some little porcelain pots containing dirt on each shelf. She put something in the pots and suddenly beautiful little flowers shot up out of the dirt and bloomed right in front of us. I was astounded -- I had never seen anything quite like that. She and I were both happy.
The gloom of my father's imminent return was still hanging over us, however, because we knew he was going to be angry. I told my mother that if my father hit me, I was going to call the police, I was going to have him arrested, and I was going to sue him. I knew he was going to be so angry that he was going to want to hit me, but I was determined I wasn't going to take any more abuse from him.
Suddenly we heard my father come in below. My mother immediately ran over to a pile of stuff in the corner, crawled behind the stuff and hid. She was acting comically, but at the same time she was serious.
When my father walked up the stairs, I walked out into the hall and met him. He had black hair and was about 40 years old. He glanced around (obviously very angry) and said he wanted to talk to me downstairs. He walked down the stairs and I walked down behind him. We walked into the living room. On the way, he had picked up a board, a light board probably made of balsa wood, probably two meters long. He looked as if he wanted to hit me with the board and he said, "Goddamn ...." I had never used that word around him, but as he walked past me, I said, "Well, Goddamn it ... too." I was just trying to mock him. That made him even angrier.
My sister (about 15 years old) was standing in the living room. My mother then also walked into the living room and my father immediately began hitting my mother on the head with the board. The wood was so light, the blows weren't hurting her.
I was getting ready to call the police and tell them my father had been hitting my mother. Since I wanted to know if my sister would testify that she had seen my father hit my mother with the board, I asked, "Will you testify to that?"
She answered, "Yes."
I told him if he hit me that I was going to call the police (I had my little silver cell phone in my hand) and that I would sue him. My father then took the board and hit me with it in the legs. It didn't hurt at all, but I immediately started dialing 911. He acted as if my calling the police didn't matter to him, but I could tell he was very angry about it. As I waited for someone to answer, he reached over and grabbed my throat. He wasn't actually strangling me, but he had his hand on my throat as if he were going to strangle me. Nevertheless, I could feel the pressure of his hand and I thought he was trying to cut me off and keep me from talking. I thought when someone answered the phone, I would say to the police "Help, I'm being strangled."
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