Does it count when you trounce your enemy in the dead of night when no one is there to see? Does it matter? If history is told by the winners then I alone get to judge the win. Or not judge at all only bask in the light of victory when my assailant is vanquished.

My brother walked into my dream last night and touched me. For the squeamish I will not elaborate. He has walked into my dreams dozens of times over decades leaving me weak with fear and shame and disgust for myself.

For those who do not believe that incest shaped my life, stop reading now. You do not want the truth.

Last night I lit into my brother like a rabid dog. I dismantled him to my mother’s horror, her precious boy, lay beaten in the dust. When I awoke I felt none of the shame and guilt that was drummed into me from childhood. I felt no remorse, only power, the power to control at last the trajectory of my life.

I never see my brothers, those that led me astray from a tender age, they do not count among my “family.” I tried to find peace with them and they tossed me aside like the mad old cow they painted me as. It does not matter. Their cowardliness is my gain, I know now I am strong and capable and true to myself.

But it was only a dream. Don’t believe it. It was me getting stronger. Let me bask in my glory.