I still dream of him and it is always, without exception, deeply troubling. In the morning I feel mildly ill and exhausted. I mean; “take to my bed” exhausted, if I were ever to take to my bed. I never did by the way. Even in those first few days, I got up and showered every single day. I could not indulge in that kind of high drama. Had I not had a houseful of people, perhaps I would’ve considered it. But I had no desire to swoon with a rapt audience in the next room.

These dreams I have are not lush or lovely, or chick flick material. They are not snippets of our past life together. I do not get to relive our happiness through the miracle of REM. They are always, each damn one of them, about him betraying me. Often they are about him faking his death so that he could have a multi-year break from our life together. I am never happy to learn this, but am outraged on everyone’s behalf. How dare he put everyone through that! In the most recent version of this dream, I learned that everyone else was complicit. Family, friends, colleagues et al., were all just fine with it. No matter which version of this dream it is crystal clear that I will not take him back. I am never happy to see him and am adamant that he will not change this new life.

There are so many troubling aspects to this dream. First and foremost is that I’ve been having it for years and it doesn’t seem to be stopping anytime soon. I have had it while in new relationships and while single. I have had it when things are good and when things are bad. The supporting players, set and time period change but the theme is always the same; betrayal.

I don’t want to have this dream. If I must have it can I also have a pleasant Lifetime Movie-ish one? It doesn’t have to be tit for tat. I’ll settle for a sweet dream for every two of this dark and distasteful one. It doesn’t even have to be terribly creative, just show me a clip of the past. How about that memory that steadies my heart rate and dries my tears? You know…when I’m in the hammock with our dog, swinging gently and looking up at the leaves. On cue, Jacques jumps up from between my legs as he hears “daddy’s” car slow to turn into the driveway. Husband walks through the house to the sliding glass doors and comes out to join us. Once upon a time that was my life.


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