A few days ago I had a nightmare that really shook me up. The reason why is because it didn’t feel or look like just a dream. It felt and looked like a memory. It was vivid but it was not in color. I might turn this into a book, I don’t know.
In this dream, it was the 1950’s and I was not a forty-eight-year- old black woman anymore, instead I was a teenage white boy with very short blonde hair. Like a crew cut. I was thin and yes it was really me. I was being abused by a man that may have been my foster father or Uncle. I’m not sure. His house was old fashioned and we were very poor. I saw him stab me in the eye with a pencil or some small thin object. I remember being very afraid of this man. I saw myself getting fed up with his abuse and someone, possibly my brother’s best friend wearing a scary black mask and helping me to fight back. When this man tried to hurt me again I recall knocking him down and telling him that if he ever hurt me again I would kill him. He looked scared of me for the first time. My friend then removed his black mask and revealed himself to the man. He looked shocked. But I wasn’t. He was another teenage white boy but taller than me and a year older. He was someone that I felt very comfortable with and trusted.
Yeah I know it’s weird. I don’t know what it means. I don’t know if god wants me to turn this into a story or not but I’m thinking about it. If you are wondering if I believe in reincarnation the answer is I’m not