Wolfhounds Hunting Down My Father

I dreamt about Wolfhounds protecting me and hunting down my father. My father referred to himself as a wolf. Irish Wolfhounds hunted and killed wolves and elk.

This dream recurred twice so far. The first time happened after I submitted the first scene of my memoir to a critiquing site online. The second time occurred after I submitted the first full chapter to the site.

In some way, I believe this is spiritual warfare against what I saw and what was done to me.

The dream was powerful and I cannot seem to wipe the grin off my face.

Forced to Participate

I did not get a choice. I could not refuse my father’s desires. I was forced to participate against my will. The last thing I wanted to do at three or five or ten was to hold a knife in my tiny hand. My father wrapped his huge hand around mine and plunged the knife into the victim’s heart. I remembered the sound of crushing cartilage, the blood spurting outward and coating the knife and my hand and his, and the coppery odor filling the air around me.

There is a show on television, a new one, and I find it so triggering. It is called The Following. The show is about teaching others to become serial killers. Something is warped and wrong about that show. I have not been able to watch it all the way through. I literally zone out and go to sleep. The truth smacks me on the face. It is not easy to live with it.

I did not want to be involved with my father’s criminal acts. Yet at age three or five or ten I knew I could not refuse or be the victim of his violence.