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12:33 p.m. - 2005-05-20
I was remembering last night as I lay in bed that I used to be afraid to sleep because I had reccuring nightmares that horrified me. Dreams about death, gore and loneliness. I would feel the effects of these dreams all day long, in school, at home. They began when my dad died, and lasted through my school and college years. There was one progressive dream that haunted me from highschool through college. I would have it about once a month to once very two months. There was a woman digging a hole in a courtyard surrounded by cabins. In each cabin there were two kids. She went cabin, by cabin torturing and killing the kids one at a time, and burying them in the hole.

I wasn't bound, or locked in. But I felt trapped and couldn't imagine running way, or fighting. It was my fate to be killed -- last. And I watched month after month, year after year, and she killed one kid after another.

I don't remember what happened to end the cycle. But I know that it ended after college. So, I'm thinking that it ended when I started drinking, funny enough.

Not that I'm an alkie or anything. But that was when I developed a strong social life including bars, clubs and friends who were what they were and made no excuses. Maybe that rebellious streak hit me and insinuated itself into my dreams.

I had never been a rebel. I was the good, quiet, obedient kid. I was well liked, but not sought out. I dressed funny, had funny haircuts and listened to weird music. I was running away. Separating myself from reality, because reality sucked. Reality was abuse, neglect, repression and mourning.

So, I acted out, but not enough to cause a major rift. I did well in school, deposited myself straight into college, found myself the most pitiful excuse for a gay boyfriend that I've ever seen, and ran into the greatest group of people that to this day I've ever had the honor to meet.

Six, Mr. Six, Sully, H, and all the others that make up what we call today the Asshole Crew. Well, H came along later, but he was the one who started it all. The god-father so to speak. I have no idea what they saw in me then, but they hung in there with me and let me tag along. Little by little the mask lowered, I started to speak and open myself to these people. I learned to stick up for myself, speak outloud, express my feelings, see my prettiness and worthiness. I took chances despite risk. I said fuck.

Learning to say fuck effectively was one of the most important lessons of all. Because there were so many people in my past and present who needed a good, whollaping "Go fuck yourself!"

There are no more powerful, more freeing words in this universe.

I'm afraid to speculate what I would have been without the education and love these people gave me those many years ago. I was the puppy that was kicked, starved, and left at the side of the road. They picked me up and took me home.

I'm not sure what started this entry today. Maybe what Six said in her entry last night, or the fact that my own little puppy is nearing end of life.
I'm feeling it keenly.

Anyway, I feel better for writing it down.


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