I woke up again, 2.15 am on the clock, a different dream but the same room. Today I saw myself walking up the wooden stairs, stairs that took me to a room. A little room with a window. My actions would differ from dream to dream, but the room remained static. All I did, all I was, all my actions were contained in that same room. Standing on the entrance, I was looking for something. A ball maybe, or a doll, I don’t know what it was, but then, a beam of light fighting through the cavities of the wooden window distracted me. Scared of the dark and excited about what existed at the source of the light, I took one step at a time. Slow but anxious. I reached out to the window handle, just as I was trying to open it, I felt a tug on my shoulder, light descending from the window stung my skin; I woke up in agony.
In another dream, I saw myself playing in that same light, making way from the window cracks. It formed circles on the floor of the room. I kept putting my right palm on those circles, in order to hide it, but then it would appear on the back of my palm, and I would repeat with my left palm, and it would reappear. I did this for quite some time, but then another hand, placed itself on my palm. It turned my hand red. I woke up with a jerk, and checked the back of my hand, it wasn’t red.
In a dream I had some time after the previous dream, I saw myself holding yellow flowers, sunflowers maybe. Again I was walking upstairs. Happy, murmuring a rhyme maybe. This time I had no problem opening the window, but the moment I did and looked at my sunflowers and they were dead, dried and brown. First time in my dream, I had an emotion other than fear. This time it was an internal pain, an uneasy feeling within. When I woke up, the same feeling still persisted. I still felt like crying my heart out. I did.
That little room from my dreams, was the same room I was molested in as a kid. Some fine day, it all re-appears, in the form of a dream, in the form of a news headline, in the form of a latest hit movie, in the form of an instrumental music or even in the form of darkness. The memories still prevail, sometimes around and sometimes within. I wait for a dream where I can breathe in that room, not cry, not be afraid. Open the window like I used to and stare at the world outside. The open sky, the lush green trees, the fresh air, hoping it would fill my lungs again, which now felt hollow. A day I would have a dream, where that room felt just like it was, before being possessed by the demons of a paedophile.