Last night as I lay sleeping in my bed, I awoke to see a lonely figure of a woman hovering over me. I was not afraid. Often she comes to visit me in the night. Once I sat upright in bed and screamed, "Who are you? Who are you?" As if I didn't know. She is my mother. She tells me stories about my childhood, stories I do not want to hear and often can't remember.
I am a survivor of incest long past. Somehow it is all too easy to forget those things that traumatized the soul. The phantom woman...
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