I hate calling them nightmares, it just seems so childish, but that is exactly what they are. Maybe they are perverse dreams. Dreams that become twisted and sick and frighteningly out of control. Right now I take a back seat to the will of these dreams. Occurring much more often then I would like and robbing me of a sound nights sleep, these dreams have taken hold of my attention.

They all seem to center around my younger brother or at least he is always an important character in these dreams. Some nights he is brutally beating a loved one, others he is leading some Aryan movement similar to scenes from “American History X”.  Each time I am in some sound, familiar place. Places that should be safe and comfortable to me, but become places I desperately want to escape due to the sheer discomfort I feel in them. Each dream scares the shit out of me, and all end with me collapsed in a heap of sadness and anger on the ground weeping. And I am awaken suddenly.

Rocked to my core from these dreams that seem so real, I wake to the familiar sound of my fan buzzing and cars passing the house in the wee hours of the night. Always my heart is racing uncontrollably. I clutch my pillow tight and run my fingers through my now longish hair trying desperately to discern between to the real and the world of dreams. And as always my eyes are crusted over from the tears.

These tears that I always shed in my dreams are real. Real in their waning presence on my lashes, real in the salty residue felt on my high cheeks, real in the moisture felt on my pillow. I rise myself at these unreasonalby early hours and drag myself to the bathroom, where I stand in a awe at the presence standing in the little vanity missor reflecting back at me. This figure is blury from the sleep and from the crud caked over my eyes. As I wipe away the little tear skeletons I can see my still racing heart, beating from my chest as if it is trying to escape, trying to leave such a horrific captation.

But I am the one in capture. Left to the demented will of these dreadful dreams. Why do I keep having them? Why is he always in them? Why is he always acting so haneous?

They say dreams are memories and thoughts trying to escape the conceous, but their presence and frequency alone means that these visoins won’t be leaving me anytime soon. So I guess I should figure out what they mean. I think I know but I don’t want to admit it out loud. I am affraid of my brother.

I feels good to write that but at the same time I don’t want to have to admit it. I feel liberated in a sense but confined by the idea that he is fast becoming a person that when I move I will probably cut ties with. As I move forward and as I mature, this idea that even family is no longer off limits is something that I have been struggling with.

He is my little brother and I love him, I always will. But his racism, his bigotry, his anger are things that terrify me and are things that I know not how to fix in him. Ultimately he will have to find solutions to his problems on his own, I just hope he knows I will always be there for him. And hopefully one day these dreams will stop and return to what they should be, dreams.