A year later, while in a counseling session, attempting once again to make sense of my predicament, I become terrified and disoriented. Directly in my line of vision, a form like a hologram appeared leaving no room for my present life to penetrate. I began seeing the atrocities done to my mother and my brothers. The smell of orange blossoms, bacon, country gravy and biscuits, the moist smell of dew in the mountain air filled my senses. Mashed potatoes mingled with blood on old graying wall paper came into view. I heard my own fear in its’ deafening silence as brown trousers came towards me. Physically, I was left feeling moist, cold and exposed; breathless with unbelievable pain in my throat and shoulders.
But who was in the brown trousers? I was filled with terror-the kind that makes silence hurt in your ears when breathing stops. I heard screams. After countless visions, in a final agonizing moment, I knew that the brown trousers were my dad’s. I knew now these episodes where of my father’s home comings, this was the food that had been thrown when our stomachs ached with hunger, the blood stained bodies were of my moms and brother’s, the screaming was theirs- the pain in my body was from being sexually abused- I lost consciousness.