After more than 6 months of nightmares, I finally had a dream yesterday. It was a sweet dream, one that didn’t force me to wake up, one that would foreshadow a very different future. There were a few men. However, there was one that stood out. He reached out to me. I could see the outline of his body, his blue silhouette, the tenderness of his hand. After flashes of the other men, I saw him again, standing there, reaching out to me. I gave him my hand. The touch felt warm, safe and real.
Contrast this with the nightmare on November 25th. He and I were home, watching television. He was working on his recovery, telling me that he wants to stay sober one day at a time. I was working on myself, healing, building trust again, balancing control and autonomy. At the corner of the television screen appeared rolling texts of e-mails politely asking escorts, hookers, whores, prostitutes and sex workers for detached, anonymous sex. Not only did he thirst for “fun” dates, he was now running an escort et el operation. I abruptly woke up and saw how my life would be if we were still together.
These nightmares are the same as the ones I had before I found out about his double life. There were no reasons for them to provoke me, to wake me up frightened. He was moving in with me in July, showing a deeper level of commitment. However, I would see images of him fucking specific women at the brink of dawn. I could feel his desire. My mind’s eyes zoomed into the expression of her face, her arched back, legs spread. Then, I would wake up. He would ask about my nightmares – and I could not tell him. How could I?
After July, after the discovery of his double life, the realization that he fucked a number of women during our relationship, I had the same nightmares. I saw images of him fucking women. I felt his desire – My mind’s eyes zoomed into the expression of her face, her arched back, legs spread. But her face was blank. Every face was blank from then on. And I continually saw him fucking these faceless women thereon forward. I woke up at 5 a.m. every morning – with panics attacks. He opened his eyes. But he knew.
