by Jeffrey Bell-Hanson

Dear Readers, I had a dream a few days ago, and I have debated about sharing it. It was one of those “Aha” moments that terrifies me.

First, let me tell you that I have some strange ideas about dreams. They seem to take me to places that are familiar but unknown. I have had dreams set in places that I could swear I have lived for years, but, upon reflection, bear no resemblance to any place I can remember living—in this universe. That really tells you what crazy things I may think about my dreams. Truth is, they probably are all about things I am trying to deal with here, in this universe.

This dream seemed familiar, as if I had had it before. I was being bullied…and not for the first time. This bullying was part of a pattern; a ritual, actually. In fact, the occasion was some sort of cultural or religious pageant during which young people (I am always much younger in my dreams) were asked to play roles. Some played the abusers, some played the abused. I was the latter, and it seemed like I had always—every year—been the latter. It seemed like something that I just had to live through so that I could go on with my life, knowing that next year, it would happen all over again.

But on this occasion, it occurred to me to question why this had to be. Why, for heaven’s sake, was I always in the weaker role? Why were the same guys always in the role of the abusers, beating up on me? What was it about me that made me seem like the weak one? Was there something about my size? My shape? My face? And I fantasized about turning that casting on its head; about unexpectedly turning the tables, doing some fancy martial arts and punching my way out of this situation. The delicious feeling of beating up my abusers was so appealing!

Alas, I knew it would never happen. Even if I knew the right moves—knew some martial art that would help me master this abuser, I knew that being the abused was what was expected of me. Nobody would support my unexpected escape. There would just be another abuser behind this one; one that was now damn mad about my upsetting the paradigm. For some reason, I was destined to play the role of the abused.

I woke up, thankfully, realizing that this was not actually my reality. I have been saved from lots of nightmares that way. But this time…I realized…that so many people I know…and like…and love…have not been able to escape this reality. And I am so ashamed it has taken me so long to understand it.