From the Archives
May 30, 2005
I'm dreaming. Someone I love and trust is holding me. And their squeeze becomes tighter and tighter. My skin hurts. My body aches. I can't breathe. It's as if this person wants to push me to see how much I'll take. They're smiling like they think they're doing something good for me. I endure the pain, feeling shame for not wanting it to continue.
"It's for my own good," I tell myself. "Learn to endure the pain now and you won't suffer later."
Finally, I wake up screaming and panicking. "Please don't do that," I say to you, your warm body attached to mine. I am terrified. I am angry. My heart races. I can't breathe. And yet I still say "please". You turn away and go back to sleep.