Sleep, Per chance to dream

I dream often of being in a huge white house with windows that go from ceiling to floor and sheer white curtains flowing on the breeze. I'm not scared in the dream, nor am I alone. Kaiser, my childhood dog is walking by my right thigh; I see my uncles, aunts, grandparents all long dead; I'm looking for my mother. I feel an inner peace in this dream that I cannot fully explain, but I am not afraid.I look for my very much alive mother within this house of the deceased. I wake up as I'm looking up at the sun through a filmy haze.

My husband is snoring softly next to me, hogging the covers as usual. On this just like any other day he will find some way, some cause to emotionally or physically abuse me. The black eyes, bruised ribs and occasional cuts have become a daily part of my life. Just as constant as my morning coffee is hearing how fat and useless I am, how fat I am, and what a lousy housekeeper I am. We've been married for 9 years.

I carefully get out of the bed, not wanting to wake my spouse. Once I've tiptoed to the kitchen I feed my dogs, and my cat, start the coffee and take the pills that control my seizures. 15 minutes pass and I let out the dogs into the large backyard and start breakfast for my mate. Everything has to be just right or I will get backhanded, but oddly enough I've gotten both used to it and learned how to take a punch with minimum effect to me. I've also learned to cook, because when we were blissfully joined in marriage I could only cook hotdogs; today I can make miracles in the kitchen. Today for breakfast I'm making some home made biscuits, a favorite around our home of everyone.

Dusty, my cat is purring around my ankles as I gently and skillfully knead the dough and get a can for cutting. The sunlight streams into the kitchen windows and I almost allow myself to feel at ease, but this feeling will be short lived as I hear a loud yawn from inside the house. The monster is awake, let the games begin. I don't know if I should give him a prefunctory kiss on the jaw or be prepared to plunge a kitchen knife into his sizeable chest. He stumbles into the room, rubbing the top of his head and in mid yawn; still not sure of his mood I give him a quick peck before saying "Good Morning".

I leave the kitchen before he can either kiss me back or slap me, whichever comes first. In the bathroom I get ready to take my shower and get dressed for work. Looking in the mirror I see a woman much thinner than I remember myself; there are deep bags under her eyes; her limbs look too small for the rest of her body, if I didn't know better I'd think that she was suffering from an eating disorder. Her hair is long in the back and pulled out and broken off in the front; an "abused mullet" of sorts, but I will gel down the front and put it into a bun today like every other. I hurriedly shower, get dressed, comb my hair, apply makeup to cover any exisiting bruises, go call the dogs back into the house, clean off the table, and go to work. My spouse is now back in bed, he's unemployed.

I run to the bus stop, catch it just in time and head off to work. Not making eye contact with any of the people on the bus, I'm not allowed to speak to anyone outside of my spouses presence. No one, not even my family members. I've accepted this little fact of life as normal, besides with him I don't need friends outside of our home. The bus ride is both a time of quiet for me and one of isolation, work is no better because I have to lie about so many facets of my marriage. I think no one knows, but will later find out that I was very wrong and the quiet young woman that I have become has more supporters than she knew possible.