One night last week, I awoke from a very real dream. It was not horrible or frightening. In fact, it was quite ordinary. It was a very accurate depiction of the everyday exchanges that commonly occurred in what was once my life. As dreams go, things were slightly out of place and somewhat strange, but I understood.
In the dream, it was a crisp October evening. I was dressed in jeans and a sweater. He was dressed in navy blue dress pants and a white shirt. The accoutrements were missing from the shirt, as they often were in reality. Why we were together, as he came from work, I have no idea.
I was younger in the dream, the age I was the day we met, but he was his current age. We were at the library in the town where I grew up. It was the library from my Story Time days and evening high school study groups, but it looked as it did then, not now . I went upstairs to gather a few books. He went downstairs to read magazines. We agreed to meet at the front doors at 7:00pm, allowing an hour of free time. At about seven o’clock, I approached the large stained glass doors. I waited….and waited.
Familiar territory: the land of insignificance and blame
Just before 7:30, I began my descent down the wide stone staircase in pursuit of a reason for the delay. I passed the children’s section, and headed to the room that housed the magazines. I was irritated that I had been kept waiting, but was willing to hear his explanation. Maybe he lost track of time. I tried to remain calm, but my insides were churning, knowing that blatant disregard was responsible for my wait and that my experience would remain void of explanation, apology, or any decent form of acknowledgement.
There he was. Sitting as if he had all the time in the world and was the only one who mattered, he casually thumbed through one of many magazines he had selected. I asked if he knew what time it was. He nodded in the affirmative, with his eyes glued to the periodical. No eye contact. I asked if he remembered that we were to re-connect at 7:00. Again, an almost undetectable shrug in the affirmative.
When I realized that he knew of the plan and had knowingly disregarded all that was supposed to be, I felt my breathing quicken. Sensing my upset, he slammed the magazine down, glared into my eyes, and blamed me for not coming to him sooner. The fact that he did not follow through with the plan he initiated, under the terms he agreed to, now became “my fault.”
Glimpses of the slipping mask
Angrily, he stood up. Glancing about, checking to insure that no one was nearby to witness his rage, he quietly, but forcefully pushed the chair in under the table. He directed me to move out, and through gritting teeth snarled, “Another night, ruined by Linda. Are you happy now, huh, huh?” I remained silent while in the library, but tears welled in my eyes. I felt alone. As I passed the fireplace, its warmth, coupled with the emotional storm brewing within, left me feeling scorched.
I felt as though I were walking through a spinning tunnel where only I existed. Everything was surreal. The sounds were muffled as I made my way to the doors, with the exception of the loud thumping sound of the date stamp machine (the library was not yet electronic.) Once outside, the rushing river and crisp fall scent brought me back. The fallen leaves crunched beneath my feet, as I made my way to the car. I blocked everything and everyone from my existence, until I slid into the cold, gray leather seats of the “work car,” the one that was ok to leave out in the elements for several days.
The quest for understanding and justice
Then, it began. My search for sense amongst madness began. “Why did you blame me for that? I was waiting for you. How did I ruin the night? I didn’t want to ruin the night. It was time to go. What did I do? What should I have done?” The insane “hamster on the wheel” feeling reigned supreme. I was surfing on a rotating sit and spin. This was the “push-pull” of what used to be.
I kept talking and asking. I, so badly, wanted an explanation and understanding. I also wanted things to be ok. My questions met with silence followed by rage at “my behavior.” I think by now I was crying, confused by the state of the goings on, while he had nothing to offer but misdirected anger. I was sitting next to complete emptiness, caught in a spinning vortex of rage.
Although younger in the dream than in reality, my soul felt experienced. I felt abused and beaten from years of things starting out normal and morphing into disasters. I was exhausted from replaying seemingly benign occurrences repeatedly in my mind, trying to figure out where I went wrong.
We rounded the corner from the library. As we crossed the train tracks and headed for the village’s downtown, he exploded. “You are such a…(insert mean, vulgar, and insulting expletive.”) He raised his hand to me, with his accusing index finger in my face, a breath shy of grazing my eyes.
Back to reality
With that I awoke. At first, I was shocked and a little upset. How had I allowed this person to enter my dreams? Then, I settled in, once again, content. I NEVER have to live through scenarios such as these again. Not with him or anyone else. The understanding set me free, regardless of any residual nonsense that may continue.
Words and blame must come to mean nothing. We must accept that their belief systems and the “codes” that they live by are not only flawed, but perverse. We must no longer seek explanations for things we did not do – from anyone – including those they have lied to us about. Time will tell those tales.
Although, I don’t really need to re-live a snap shots of the craziness, I ultimately saw it as a positive reminder of the journey. Was the dream symbolic? Perhaps. Maybe there is reason behind my presence on the upper level, while he headed to the basement. Maybe it’s nothing more than my preference for books over magazines. I’m going to try not to read more into this than necessary. The simple truth is that this experience, good or bad, is part of me. To expect that this would never surface would be unhealthy. Dreams help us do the work our conscious minds sometimes cannot and can help us bring us order and peace. When an occasional dream, replaces the living nightmare, we can’t go wrong!
Truthy, there may be OTHER reasons you “dread” to go to sleep, do you snore? are you over weight? if so, you may need to have a sleep test. So don’t think it is ONLY the nightmares (though it could be) but I WOULD see a doctor about that. Also a SLEEP doctor can treat you for more than just apnea, they can give you medications that stop the nightmares. Your “family” doctor is not up on all of this most likely so I would see a specialist in this area of sleep—even if only the dreams. But positive attitudes will definitely cut down on night mares, but you also might need some professional help as well if they are severe. (((hugs))
OxD, I did a sleep study a few months back. One doctor said that I had “mild” sleep apnea. Another interpreted the results as being “severe.” My primary care physician looked at the results and said that he didn’t believe that I did not have sleep apnea, and gave me the reasons why he believed this.
I’d LOVE to get some professional help with my recovery. The nearest counselor is a 90-mile round-trip – there isn’t a single practicing counselor in the County that I live in. I had to laugh – there’s a “Victim’s Services” office in the County and they advise victims/survivors to drive to the adjoining counties (whichever one is closest) to seek safe housing, food banks, and counseling services.
Truthy you hhad a double negative in your post above
“said that he didn’t believe that I did **not** have sleep apnea,”
If your study was so inconclusive as to show severe sleep apnea and mild sleep apnea and you are dreading to go to sleep. I would have a repeat study done at another facility. No matter how far you have to drive. Sleep apnea untreated can lead to a lot of things and couple that with stress and PTSD and it literally can “kill” you. No joke.
OxD, I had a typing “oops!” LOL
The doctor that interpreted the results as being “severe” also told me that I did not have the auto-immune disorder that I’ve been twice diagnosed with, despite the symptoms and lab results. I had 2 episodes during 8 hours of sleep, so “mild” seems more appropriate. But, I DO know that sleep apnea can be a fatal disorder, and I’ll probably not have the opportunity to engage in another study. Once the divorce is final, I lose all health coverage and will never be able to afford it, on my own.
You’re absolutely right – it’s NO joke.
Louise,
he told you that you would be destroyed? Was that a tell?
He did seek to destroy you. He drove you out of your career from the stress. IMO, your body, your subconscious knew that he wished to destroy you. That’s why you couldn’t sleep.
When a spath wants to destroy someone, the aim is total destruction through suicide. The ones who don’t shoot you in the head, only resist because they don’t want to get caught. But their wish is the same: destruction.
Our bodies know, our right brain knows. It doesn’t know the type of destruction, it only knows danger to the self.
My spath sister also went without sleep at the very beginning of her relationshit with her spath trojan horse. He would arrange all kinds of outings so that they were out all night and she had to work the next day. He probably took meth while she just went through life exhausted. I think sleep deprivation is one thing spaths use to control us.
Guys, did you know that a “night-mare” is not the same thing as a “bad-dream”? Night-mares do not occur in the same stage of sleep, as a dream does…during REM sleep. During a real night-mare, your body is in a state of paralysis. I learned that in Psych 101 about 34 years ago…I think I’ll google “Nightmares” and see what I can find.
Okay. I just googled “night-mare” and the first article I read said that night-mares do occur during REM sleep, so, I guess I was wrong about that….but, there might be more here than meets the eye.
I used to sleep like a gray rock I think.
After the longterm relationship with first spath I still slept well but after the first round with this psycho bio dad, I would startle awake every time I woke up. I had just started to relax and he did the custody thing from prison and sleep was not happening. I believe mine was sheer adrenilane from the amount of stress I experienced. I also started shouting in my sleep…UGH!
My favorite thing with my daughter has been out loud giggles and sometimes laughter in her sleep. It doesn’t happen so much now.
Psycho-bio used to scream and fight speaking clearly in his sleep and kicked me fairly badly in my sleep. I always wondered if it was intentional. I told him I thought he must be a tortured being. I said otherwise, you would have something nice happen sometime in your sleep. Creepy thing was about a week later I woke to him laughing (supposedly in his sleep) like the psycho he is and I never believed that he was asleep.
He used to yell he could call the devil right here right now. WTH??? !!! I told him to shut the hell up!
skylar:
I’m sure you are right. That was a tell. And destroy me he did. And how many times have I thought of suicide…HA! If I had followed through, he probably would have just laughed on the inside. Of course, he couldn’t laugh on the outside or his mask would fall. Everyone would wonder why he was so happy I was dead? I truly think he did set out to destroy me. Sleep deprivation to control us…wow, so true. Yikes.
Louise, oh, yes they WILL laugh aloud when their targets end their own lives. When a target ends their own life, the spath experiences the most powerful rush of power, bar none – even in relation to murder, I think. When they murder, they’re doing the deed, themselves. When a target commits suicide, they’ve murdered the target without having to touch them – by proxy.
Oh, when I was experiencing insomnia (MONTHS of it), I would get about 6 hours of sleep in 2 days. The exspath would “sympathize” by saying, “Poor dear!” and, yet, take no steps or actions to help/allow me to rest during the day if there were an opporunity.
They deliberately inhibit our own physical healing. Either by actually interfering with our health, or by dismissing and minimizing our conditions. Then, we simply get sicker. UGH!