Night Terrors

I'm up at 3 AM from a nightmare again. It's always the same plot —  seeing my Ex with another woman right in front of me, actively rejecting me — just different leading lady characters inset, depending on the night.

The nightmares stopped for a while after he left last month. We agreed not to speak — outside of me facilitating conversations with our daughter at either of their requests — until he came back for the summer. 

In the silence of those first two weeks of May, my mind calmed down and I peacefully slept. But knowing he will soon be back clearly has my mind twisted and my subconscious at work. I'm afraid to see in person what I see in my dreams.

I wake up at two or three or four AM and battle to calm my mind as it races through our story from front to back, reminding me of every sore point. And there are many, nearly endless, sore points.

He had a harem of women surrounding him when we first met, like a swarm of mosquitoes drinking the blood of his confident ego and eating up the unscrupulous lines from his enchantment script. Each one wanted a part in the razzle dazzle, not knowing we were all being fed the same dream. As the breadth of the harem became clear, I did try to run. But he wooed me back. We took it day by day. And then, to my surprise, he swore off the swarm and committed to me.

I should have known that it would not last. 

At least after what he and I have been through, he now owns this part of himself — this desire to be with any, and every, and all the women of the world — and she who takes him on in the future will know who she is getting.

But then again, if I am truly honest with myself, so did I.

When someone does not want or need something from you, it is clear to see who they authentically are at their core. We (women) all want to be different, a "chosen one" for whom everything changes. But people do not fundamentally change. 

Now I watch new women — even women who were our mutual friends that have boldly stepped in to capitalize on our demise — eat up the script and gorge on the attention, excessive compliments and promises of yachts, oysters and fancy cocktails, feeling naïvely central to his universe when that couldn't be farther from the truth.

And with each one, I feel more stupid for having been one of them. To feel this particular oneness is to feel pain.

Pain that consumes in the darkness of night, but as Rumi says, the wound is the place where the light enters you. With the rise of the sun comes the light.