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Castle of My Mind

A Story of Recovery From an Abusive Relationship

By Leila JamiesonPublished 6 years ago 3 min read
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McCaig's Tower, July 2016, Oban, Scotland. Photo Credit to L.R.S.G

I stare at my computer screen, exhausted from my sleep. I hold my breath. The first words I would say to you after a year of silence lay frozen on my tongue.

Active, 7 hours ago.

You’d be waking up soon, I had to hurry. With fervor, I type a memory, so fresh, I could smell it.

Last night, you invaded my dreams. This is not the first time you have done this. But don’t you agree that sleep should be a refuge? A comfort? No, you probably think it is a luxury. A luxury you are content to take away from me.

You always liked taking things from me.

This dream was more invasive than your usual tactics. Normally you show up once, my sub-conscience battles with you. You lose, of course. These are my dreams after all. But last night was different. You wouldn’t leave, and I wouldn’t wake up.

I’m just stubborn like that, and so are you.

However, these are my dreams and in my dreams, you go away. Why didn’t you leave? It is bad enough you will not go away in my reality. It’s hard to be scared all the time. I have to bring people to the places we used to go, in case I run into you. I need the protection. At least you know not to talk to me when we share air. Maybe that’s because of my “bodyguards”. I wouldn’t want to know what you would do if you ever caught me alone. I want you to know, that the silence between us has been good, almost healthy.

Last night in my dream you talked to me, in fact, you laughed at me. It was the most vivid dream, almost like you were there. I could smell your cologne in every room I walked into. A smell once comforting, now haunts me. In real life, I can’t stand within five meters of you without becoming scared. Don’t talk to me, don’t touch me, I whisper to myself. At least in real life, I don’t have to use my eyes to find you in a room.

In this dream, I couldn’t lose you.

In a round castle of my mind, high walls with gates that only sisters know how to open. The walls covered in vines that other people grew in attempt to climb over the wall. Showering me with gifts to earn my trust. The vines aren’t very high because it never worked. Each room representing an aspect of my life, my communities. A church room, a school room, a friend’s room, and a family room. Other rooms, too. I had let you into the one room, the career room. I opened the gate and let you in. I carry that regret in both dreams and reality. I guess you didn’t know, you weren’t supposed to leave that room. That’s the problem of relationships though. You bring them into the other aspects of your life.

You were in the career room, then you took over the church room. You made them believe I was a harlot. Whispering dirty truths into their ears, in reality, they wouldn’t have believed you. But in the castle of my mind, they called me a whore and cast me out. In truth, every time I think about sharing a bed with you, about sharing intimacies, sharing secrets, I want to scrub myself clean. My skin curls at the thought of us, together. My friends and I know how to laugh you off though, except you know my three best friends. What we do for fun, what type of music we listen to. You took over the friends’ room, maybe I put you there as well, but no one wanted you there. In the castle they begged you to stay there, they believed you over me. You stole my friends; do you know this? Not in reality of course. But in my castle, you stole them. I think that you know you did this. I think you woke up a little more cocky than normal. The power of being in control, racing through your veins. You had just spent a night sieging my castle.

This is my castle! I say to you. Your eyes squint in that way I use to like. You are laughing because you are winning.

For the first time in a year, you are winning.

Slamming down on the backspace key, I realize; telling you this would be your trophy. The validation you do not need.

Active.

The silence continues.

breakups
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About the Creator

Leila Jamieson

Poet that's into politics, art, music, travel and too invested in life.

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