Apparently, PTSD sufferers experience nightmares. I had been wondering for a while whether I have PTSD along with whatever else I have, and I’ve written about that before.
Now I’m fucking positive.
Last night, I had a nightmare that’s still on my mind now.
I dreamt I was being the bigger man again, like I always was, and trying to patch it up with me and my ex-boyfriend. I was attempting to be friends with him again and he had agreed. I dreamt I’d gone to visit him in his flat, the one he said was perfect for us both, and I was trying to be friendly and not act as if we were still together. He was the opposite: talking about how he thought we should be together again, that it hasn’t been quite right since I left, that he never really meant to let me go like he did. He then told me he wanted to marry me, and that I should say yes and we should start talking about arrangements, and that I could just move straight in with him and it would all be fine. He was repulsively close to me, and kept touching my arms, grabbing my hands, kissing me. I kept turning my head away from him, trying not to let him kiss me, trying to move away.
Eventually I just took a huge step back from him and told him I had met someone in the States that I cared about more than anything, and if he wasn’t prepared to be friends we would have to part the ways.
Well, after that he went crazy.
He turned from being kind and caring and sensitive to violently angry and contemptful. How dare I think of anyone but him! I was a complete slut for going and hooking up with some arrogant prick in America, and how dare I shame him and his family by coming here to beg for friendship he didn’t think I deserved. How could I even look him in the eye!? What a bitch I was!
He started throwing things, not at me but at the walls, and pacing around. He yelled in my face. I argued straight back with him that my new boyfriend wasn’t an arrogant prick, he was all the amazing things a boyfriend should be- completely unlike my ex. He shouted back that I was a complete whore, going over there and putting myself out for him.
I started grabbing my stuff and trying to get out, and he was yelling at me and calling me a slut over and over again as I headed for the door.
Mum woke me up, and I literally thought I was still trying to escape him, and that he was nearby, insulting me and J and making me feel terrified and small again.
This is the impact the sorry fucker has had on my psyche. I hate him so much for it.
One of the other nightmares I have had about he and I was when I dreamt I was living with him, his mother and stepfather, his grandparents and sister. He was being his usual abusive self, and I had decided I had had enough. I told him we were over as a couple and I was moving out, and the whole family apart from his sister started laughing at my scars, belittling my mental illness, and tormenting me. They made it nearly impossible for me to pack, I was crying so much, and I had to put my belongings in a taxi and let the driver take them to my parents’ house whilst I walked my dog the long way home. For some reason, he was in the dream too, only he had also been living at my ex-boyfriend’s house. It was getting dark, and I was concerned for my dog because he’s old and pavement walks hurt his back legs.
After that one, I woke up in tears.
I re-live my assault in my dreams too, and they get more and more graphic. The last one had me being picked from a line of girls to be the victim of a serial killer- he was supposed to choose one girl to kill and another to assault. Lucky me, I ended up with both. I woke up as the knife was plunged into my chest.
I still haven’t heard a thing from the psychiatrist. I think they don’t care. I suspect this evaluation is not happening quickly enough because I’m not a screaming lunatic on a street corner.
Be careful what you with for, mate. I am attempting to re-start my dance career, giving it one last go, and if moving back to the Company proves a trigger, then that may be exactly what you get.
Especially if I keep having these fucking nightmares.