In Dreams

A place where love was never at, and another still exists

In Dreams

Last night I dreamt of him.

No. Make that a nightmare. He stood by watching me, and as usual I felt uncomfortable. To be honest, while I was awake, I didn't care if he was watching me from somewhere. He has no power over me.

In another nightmare, he’d said, "Why did you get rid of my clothes? I'm still alive." He was angry, while I felt trapped and terrified once more.

He was an acquaintance, and very much later he became more than that, but even that was a lie. Fir one, he'd not divorced his first wife.

Many years had passed revealing more of his personality. I lived with him. We had a troubled, yet long lasting relationship. I can't even explain fully what kind of man he was.

I can mention things like how he drowned kittens, tried to drown me, lied and manipulated, abused me, belittled me, but worse yet, violated me again and again, and ruined my chance of happiness.

On the upside of this, he was likeable, knowledgeable, and helpful to others, when he wanted to be. It was like he had an inner switch that he could flip off and on at will. He was a thief and manipulative.

He was quite charming, interesting, and sociable, and according to him, he loved me.

He used me. I could easily say he was delusional.

In hindsight, I knew he didn't love me at all. I didn't want him to love me ever.

I decided to do things so that I'd not be attractive to him, thinking he'd go away and leave me alone and not treat me like his puppet. He knew from the start that he wasn't the one I loved.

He had selfish needs and would do anything to fulfill those needs, even destroying anything and anyone in his path. He was chaos behind closed doors, if he was threatened, and became a heap of emotional mess when he thought he had lost his grip.

Why did I allow it? Maybe I felt like I deserved it. Maybe I felt guilty for something that I had no control over or at least felt I did not. Maybe I had what people call the Stockholm syndrome, where the victim feels sympathetic toward the perpetrator.

Or it could be, yes, I had nowhere to turn to.

It did not matter then. I didn't care about me. I lost what was precious to me.

Either way, his violent outbursts were almost unbearable. There are many ways to die, some do it slowly, and some sooner, and I honestly didn't care if I did perish.

My loss was greater than I can express here, yet I was silent. In order to move past this, I had to become my own cheerleader, yet I didn't have the energy, or the will to, until much later. And chaos of another kind began.

The more independent I got, the more he hated it. We still battled, but it felt different.

What I didn't know then, nor did he, was that he was ill, and it was fatal. It was his own undoing. He had addictions--prescription medicine overdone daily and sometimes mixed with alcohol. This happened for many years, even before I knew him.

Although I suffered mental anguish and abuse, I found myself eventually becoming empathetic. How can this man that most people admired or even loved, die?

In fact, I wanted to die instead.

Then I thought of my son. He would have been an orphan. So I got through my days somehow.

And so, this man gradually got weaker until his body expired. I know this will sound odd, but I was relieved, because he wasn't suffering anymore. It also ended some of my suffering, but much worse than that happened--it broke a connection of another kind. I saw it coming, but again there was nothing I could do about it.

Suffering of any living being tears at my heart, and this person was special to many people--people I loved.

I cycled through some grieving for months. I was free, free to do anything I wanted to, yet had no energy to do much except that necessary for my child's well-being. I slept a lot. I only did things that had to be done.

Gradually, I stepped outside, thinking the suns warmth would be soothing. I attended the young rose bush outside. Only one red rose was on the plant. I decided to clip it, staring at it, I remembered reading that red roses represent love. Where was my love at? I needed his love to surround me. Nope. He moved on.

I was alone, except for my child, who I adored. I was also angry. In fact, I thought I might be going crazy. I'd lost my energy.

Many months later, I had nights where I bolted upright out of my sleep, with my heart beating wildly, as I clutched the covers on my bed against me. I stared into the night until my heartbeat slowed down. Was the one who mistreated me still watching me? How? It was a while before I could sleep again. This occurred off and on for years.

When I finally was able to talk to a psychologist about what I was going through, she said that I had PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder), just like soldiers sometimes get. Even then, she had no idea how deep-seated this trauma was, and was missing some important details about this whole situation, but those I choose to keep to myself for now.

I wanted the nightmares to stop. At some point, I decided to try another approach, and during one of my night-sweats, I spoke aloud and said, "Go away and leave me alone. Let go of me."

Those dreams, nightmares might be a better name for it, gradually became scarce.



I was more than pleased, when many years later, the nightmares were replaced with dreams. Dreams of another being and quite different feeling.

This time the scene was at a school or some other official building; maybe he was a teacher or a leader of some kind. His persona radiated calm, patience, and peacefulness. I don't know how, but we knew each other well, yet were still discovering new things about one another.

He saw that my son had needs, and handed me a key. I looked at it, and then him. We didn't speak, but through our eyes, we somehow communicated and understood each other perfectly. I was to go shopping and buy my son what he needed. There was no money exchanged, but I knew that he would be responsible, and I would return to him afterward.

Instinctively, I knew I could trust him with anything that was mine. He walked me toward the parking lot. I glanced at a car nearby; it was aged, and very expensive. Returning my attention to him, he nodded. We stopped along the way, and gazed into each other's eyes, while my hand had somehow landed on his chest, and I thought I felt his heart beating as wildly as mine. He was familiar, yet new, and I was dazzled and almost overwhelmed by all that he was, and not just because of his generosity.

A feeling of warmth flowed through me. Although there were no words spoken, his eyes spoke of trust, understanding, and love. I'm here for you. his message said.

For several minutes, I thought we might embrace, or that he might kiss me, and part of me wanted him to. I wondered if that was proper. We moved gently apart instead. His hand had been at my waist and he released me, and then returned to whatever he was doing before I had arrived. I never did quite remember his face clearly, except that his eyes were kind, he was healthy, and becoming. There was an undeniable connection.

Slowly, I walked, and stood near one of his most prized possessions--his car. It was sleek and longer in the front. Its curved fenders had lights, which stood outside the top, and still gleamed brightly. Yes, it was aged. It spoke of opulence and elegance. It was sturdy and reliable, just like him, and reminded me of those german cars that was used in Europe during one of the wars.

I put the key into the lock hesitated, bit my lip, and then slipped into the seat. Then I awoke.


A long time had passed. I dreamt again with the same type of feeling. This time two of us sat across from each other at a table in a garden-like area. A book lay open in front of us. A gentle breeze swept across my cheek, through the air, and stirred branches in the trees overhead. There were no words spoken, yet we communicated.

As I watched him, that same warm feeling slowly flowed through me--comfort and love. A slight blush warmed my face when it intensified. I felt as if my heart might burst from happiness any second.

I'm not sure who these last two people were in my dreams, but they had the same qualities. I wondered later if it was the Lord, the great Teacher, God, the Essence.

Maybe he wasn't a god at all, but simply a man, perfect just the way he is, or possibly my soul mate. He was beautiful, considerate, and loving, and I trusted him, and knew that his heart was pure.

I woke up with a smile on my face, and laid there on my bed, savoring my moment. Maybe he was merely a figment of my imagination, but he brought me pleasure, and there was nothing in that whole day that could bother me.

It's been a while since the last time this happened, possibly years. I look forward to the next time. I hold onto the dream because it brings me joy and hope. I realize that it's possible that it is just my mind working through feelings I have inside.

Everything is perfect in dreams, where love still exists.