We were suddenly in the hallway, a long corridor with a door on each side at one end, and on the other end one door that leads to my room, with a door perpendicular to it that leads into our entryway--perfect for trapping light on the edges and rendering those standing in the middle shady figures. It was my house back home. The one I saw a singular scene of on the webcam yesterday as I spoke with my dad, which I looked at periodically throughout the evening here as the sky got darker and darker back home--until I could barely make out the shapes of the furniture in our den.

At one end of the hallway my mother was standing there, we had been having a conversation, but I didn't remember what was said or what was even being said at that moment. But we were having an argument. A heated one. I felt the emotions of disgust and anger rise up in my chest--I guess my mother saw them too. She put up her arms in a "crouching tiger, hidden dragon-esque" kung fu move and proceeded to "attack" me...all the while moving somewhat backwards.

I remember comparing it to our dog Winston, when we first got him, he was in the backyard and heard a neighboring dog bark. The dog was bigger and louder, but Winston stood up on his legs and barked his little heart out, trying to assert his "alpha" status...but his fear came through anyway. With every bark he scooted himself backwards, avoiding confrontation in his very confrontation.

It was at that moment I remember thinking that my mother and I both knew that any physical confrontation would be won by me. That there was nothing other than her very status as my "mother" stopping me from breaking her to pieces. I think I saw this thought in her eyes, a realization that my respect was the only thing she had, or didn't have, which could or would protect her. It was horrible to see this.

As my mother committed herself to the fight, willing herself forward toward me. I couldn't contain the rage within me. I committed, at first thinking I would let those feelings of revenge and hatred grow in me and do the unthinkable, hurt my own mother. However, I couldn't bring myself to do such a thing. In Judaism, even doing something like potentially causing a parent to get hurt from an activity, is a very very big nono. And so I put my arms up in self-defense letting her get to me first...and then I grabbed onto each of her arms, crossing them up against her, using her center of gravity against her, and pushing...

That's when I started yelling, continuously and repeatedly the same thing over and over again. I don't remember thinking up the words, they just flew out of my mouth, the rage and the tears accompanying the words that were at the core of my very soul--


She stared up at me, "Ouch, that hurts." While yelling I had criss-crossed her arms a bit too much...I didn't mean to hurt her. I immediately stopped.

And then I woke up. The words and the dream echoed and repeated itself again and again in my mind for the rest of the day. I could barely concentrate during my afternoon class...trying to push the words from the 20 minute nap out of my mind.

Back in my "home"...it was no longer the same, would no longer be the same, because of her. And because of her we no longer have the same relationship. I can't be the loving daughter. I just can't.

People wonder why I've only been sleeping a couple hours the last couple days. I've always had trouble sleeping. But it's almost masochistic to sleep when such dreams visit you. If it's not one thing, it's another. When will I have some peace?

Live wasn't meant for such torment.

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