Cocaine. Binges. Pack-up. Move.

I have been having the same dream ever since I was 14 years old. I run into the street covered in blood screaming for someone to help me. I yell at the top of my lungs as loud as I can pleading for someone to hear me and they never do. I can hear the quiet of the night, the dogs in the neighborhood barking, the crickets chirping, the wind whistling in the late night Arizona skies. I look behind me and I can feel his presence and before I know it, he slams me to the ground and gets on top of me. Before I am able to move, he covers my mouth and I feel the harshness of suffocation.

I usually awake from the nightmare at this point screaming out loud and in a cold sweat. I never really get to the point where he kills me; I don't think the channels in my mind or my thought process would allow it. In my mind I am a fighter, I am chosen to live. And therefore, in this instance, my life cannot be taken away from me.

This dream stems from a real-life event that happened in February of 1990. My mother and I were staying in an apartment home in Phoenix, Arizona while my father was working in Memphis, Tennessee on a contract. We had been separated for several months and due to this, my mother (and I later found out my father) were having affairs and living separate lives. I of course was immersed in my life of being a Freshman and wasn't really paying attention to the obvious decline of my parent's marriage.

Anyway, on this young February night, my mother had a guest over. I don't remember his name but he was this smooth looking chocolate colored cat from the other side of town. Anyway, my mother was in the living room entertaining this dude and I was in my bedroom trying to block it out, doing what 14 year old girls do at that time, like talking on the phone, watching videos and reading magazines. Doing my nails. All of that shit. I don't think I paid much attention to my mom's guest. I wasn't stupid. I knew her game. But I wanted her to be happy so I played along knowing if my dad knew about this set-up, he would be more than 38-hot.

I remember going to bed around 11 that night. I was all geeked up about this Valentine's Day dance that was coming up at high school. This smooth dude asked me to go to the dance and I was all happy and stuff, plotting in my mind what I would wear and how I was going to do my hair. All of that young puppy love type ish.

I remember hearing this blood curdling scream and it awoke me from my peaceful slumber. It was something out of the movie Psycho, only it wasn't a flick. It was my mom's voice. I jumped up out of my bed and ran to the living room and all I could see in the darkness with the moonlight streaming through the window was blood on the wall and my mother laying on the floor. The dude looked at me and then ran out the door leaving it wide open. I got enough courage to go and close the door and lock it and then tended to my mother who was holding her right eye. He had punched her with so much force in her eye that it was nearly hanging out the socket.

I called 911. Then called my mom's best friend Tanya because I didn't know what to do. My mom was crying and in so much pain. She couldn't even talk. I remember getting a towel for her to hold her eye and soak the blood. I was scared but I wasn't crying. I was like a robot, a programmed soldier. The police came in like 10 minutes and my mom's best friend came in right behind them. They took a report and my mother was sent off to Thunderbird Hospital in Glendale.

I stayed with Tanya at the apartment, and the next day, a plain clothes policeman followed me and watched me while I stood at the bus stop, just in case this idiot of a man tried to come back and do something to me. My mom was in the hospital for a week and they performed two surgeries on her eye. My father was told about the incident and immediately flew to Arizona where I was told he was looking for ole boy, although I never saw him when he came. The whole thing was a blur.

Then I was told we had to move. Out of state. Back to Memphis where my dad was. And if you know anything about me or have read my blogs before, this was a pattern that still affects me to this day.

I was so strong that day for my mom and I. I felt like that was when the roles reversed. It was like from that day forward, I became the mom and she became the daughter. And at 14, that was a lot of pressure. I hated leaving my friends. My school. The constant day-to-day of life. But I knew that in order for my parents marriage to work, we needed to all be together in one house under one roof. I had to give up my peace to save my family.

This whole thing happened because my mom and this guy were on a cocaine binge. My mother always smoked pot and had recently got into "harder" stuff like blow and speed. I think old boy may have been doing crack while in the apartment. And I don't know if he clicked or what but he hit my moms, almost destroying her face, and he was never caught. My mom and I haven't talked about this incident since it happened, and this is the first time I have really talked about it in depth.

But every once in awhile, I have that dream and I am face-to-face with him and he kills me. But in real life I got away. And in real life, I am a true survivor.