I have had three recurring dreams since my brother committed suicide on February 10, 2014. One, I talk about in the letter to his widow regarding forgiveness. When he was a 14 year old boy, and I was a 16 year old girl. Another, is a dream that my mother takes all of my animals and sets them out, and will not tell me where they are. I wake up in a panic and have to make sure they are all safe, it is that real. It has gotten so much better. Today, I woke up all through the night. I woke up in a panic this morning after about the fifth time of sleeping. I had dreamt of the third, a childhood memory when my father snatched me up off of the sofa, dragged me down the hallway in his rage mode, stripped me down from my clothes, and he whipped me violently with three hickories, until they all broke. I thought he would never stop. I was so bloody. I had thick bloody welts all over me, from the top of my back to my ankles. I was so humiliated, and did not even know what I had done wrong. He told me why after the fact. It wasn’t even me. He did this in front of my siblings and step mom. I was nine. That’s a messed up kind of memory to have about someone who should have protected you. He was my abuser. One of them.