Hell Found Me
October 25, 2006
Hell found me. And this time, like all the other times before, I plunged right to the bottom of it.
He was shouting and, as always, the sound of his powerful voice obliterated every other thought from my mind. The desire to run away and hide somewhere safe became almost unbearable, and yet I did not dare do it, for fear had control of me and was holding me with an iron fist. I could only pray that it would be over soon. I couldn’t remember what caused his anger, there was always some stupid insignificant thing, like dirty dishes in the sink or watching TV or making some noise in the house that was otherwise extremely quiet. So there I was, trembling, the glasses on my nose getting heavy with every passing moment, trying to anticipate the blow that would surely come at some point, for that I was sure of, trying not to think of the pain that would follow and hoping that his anger would go away as sudden as it came. I can’t remember for how long I stood there, waiting and enduring, trying not to make a noise, not to cry, but I remember the tears that came anyway and the anger and the hurt. He never stopped shouting, asking questions, but I knew the answers didn’t matter because his mind was already made up. He wanted to hit me and I could feel it with every fiber of my body. His hand shot up and I expected the pain to follow. I felt so sad….
And then I woke up, my eyes suddenly open and still chasing the image of pain, trying to choke back my tears. A part of me felt relieved and sad at the same time, but the other part, the child, just wanted to go ahead and cry as if everything was real.
I stood still for a few seconds, trying to remember where I was, come back to reality somehow. I felt so alone. To calm down was not easy, as this dream was more powerful than the ones I had in other nights. Somehow, it seemed so…. real.
Memories come back to me in pieces, like torn pages from a book of the past, not in a logical order but more like scattered thoughts, but still very clear and vivid. The sounds, the shapes, the people are there and I am there with them, only a child. Sometimes I wish I can shout back, prove somehow that I am not a child anymore, that I have grown and the fear has left me and I’m strong, as I’m supposed to be. This I cannot do, because the past can’t be changed. It’s there, haunting, beckoning, tormenting me. I wish I could forget it, erase it from my mind, replace it with memories of happier times.
I lay back on my pillow and let the tears come. I try to remember that he cannot hurt me anymore. The tears roll down on my cheeks and my right hand keeps wiping at them, willing them to stop coming.
For a brief period of time, hell had found me. But next time I’ll hide better.
We all have stories to tell. Sometimes we bring them forth and sometimes we keep them buried. Here are my stories. I hope you will enjoy reading them as much as I enjoyed writing them. 
