Micha- A Disturbance of Lost Memories by Aimee - HTML preview

Exacto Knife

I took a nap this afternoon, as I am not feeling well and am very tired. Sometime today, I scratched my hand. I actually thought I had spilled boiling water on it, but looking at it, it looks more like scratches. Maybe I did both. I don’t know how the scratches got there.

I was boiling pasta, so splashing makes sense.

As I was lying down to sleep, I was thinking how this hurting myself mystifies me. I was thinking that I’m not one to mutilate myself, that I don’t recall any major cuts to my hand, except for two years ago, when my mom came to visit me for a week in July. The day before her arrival was a busy one cleaning and cooking. Around 9:30

p.m., I was cooking chicken cacciatore and I cut my hand badly on a tin of tomatoes. I had opened it with the kind of can opener that takes the lid off, leaving a razor sharp edge. As I was about to pour the tomatoes into the pot, the can slipped out of my hand. Trying to

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catch it, it cut through my hand in a “V” shape just below the little finger. You could see the tendon. I was lucky that wasn’t cut. Later that night, I had to have nine stitches. This new accident has me mystified. I am well aware that much of what we do to ourselves comes from the mind.

Today, I had the following dream:

I am sitting in a small cubicle (all white). My ex-husband is sitting across from me. He is sitting sideways, a computer to his left (again white).

My eyes are closed. I am either blindfolded or blind. All is dark but I know what I have described above.

Donald is holding my right hand. He bends my hand all the way back in an attempt to break it. I beg him not to do so. He then takes the middle finger and again tries to break it. Again I beg him not to break my hand. Then he takes my fingers and moves them in an attempt to break my knuckles all at once. Again I beg him not to break my hand.

Then I feel pain. With either a blade or an exacto knife (I do not know what he is using, it could be a very sharp knife) he cuts into my middle finger. The cut is deep and deliberate. My finger is bleeding heavily and I can feel the blood pouring out onto my hand. He dabs my finger now and then to stop the blood. I am in pain and crying.

He throws a bunch of keys between my legs on the seat where I sit. I grab them by feeling for them with my left hand, as I am still blind and he is still holding onto my right hand.

I am running down a hill. Someone is chasing me. I have difficulty running because my arms are restricted somehow. I am wearing something grey. It is wrapped about me in such a way that I cannot use my arms. I think if I can only reach the Altima I will be safe in the car. I have the bunch of keys with me. All is grey. I do not think I am still blindfolded, yet all is grey and dark.