a dream about real life
I dreamed, as I often do, that we had to move in with my ex-husband. Usually in these dreams, he lives in my dad’s house, but this time he’d bought a nice house of his own here in Houston, so we had to move in.
My boyfriend helped me bring in my stuff. My ex-husband gave him dirty looks. I resolved that, if Ex said anything, I’d staunchly defend the relationship and my intentions to keep dating this man. My boyfriend went out to the car to wait with his cell phone in hand, in case I needed him.
Ex made an off-hand remark about his expectation that, now that we were moving in, I’d of course quit my job.
First I screamed at him. Then I cried. Then, as rationally as I could, I told him, “I wasn’t happy being a housewife. The first time we lived together, you made me be a housewife and didn’t let me have any friends. I was lonely and bored. I’m too smart and talented to waste my life like that.”
In my dream, he said something that he’s never said to me in real life. “You’re right. I did isolate you. I shouldn’t have done that. I know it made you unhappy and that that’s why we got divorced. I’m sorry.”
It was gratifying to hear his admission, but at the same time, I knew that he would never change. It took a lot of courage to say, “I changed my mind. I’m not going to live with you.” God, it was so hard. I walked out the door. My boyfriend was waiting for me. I was glad, because I felt safe with him. My kids tentatively followed me. At first I was afraid they’d want to live with their dad anyway, without me, because his house was so nice and I can only afford our small apartment. Instead, my oldest asked me if they could just spend one night and then go back home with me the next day. Relieved, I agreed. My boyfriend made quick, polite small talk with Ex and then followed me to my car. I was glad that I had someone who was secure enough to let me be myself. I woke up.
I dream this shit about five nights a week, but usually it ends worse – with me desperately trying to make the phone connect to the police station, or running away in the night, without my kids. Or the kids are living with him and he argues with me or threatens me when I go to see them. Or they’re living with me, but we’re forced to live in my father’s house in abject, dysfunctional poverty.
A lot of times, I wake up crying. I tell myself I’m crying in relief, and then I thank God that I control my own life now and that I have my kids and we’re doing okay.
But sometimes I think that I cry because it was a very sad situation. Every year since I left it (it’s now been three and a half), I’m able to see it more clearly for what it was. And, yes, I feel sorry for myself. For the Gwen that was, I mean. I spent so much time downplaying everything to avoid embarrassment. (And I still do.) So many people – even “professionals” – treated me like it was all my fault. Sometimes I treat me like that, too. “You fucking dumb ass,” I say. “You never should have gotten married,” or “You should have left him a long time ago.” But, usually, I’m empathetic. (With myself. Ha.) I can say, “Don’t be so hard on yourself. You were just a dumb kid. You were just raised to believe that that’s the way life was supposed to be.”
I’m lucky to have friends now who are understanding and who don’t hate women, like so many women do. Shit – I’m lucky to have friends. For a long time, I thought I never would again. Being alone is a horrible thing – especially being trapped alone with children to raise. You have all the responsibilities and none of the privileges. You have no one to turn to if you’re treated bad. You have all the time in world to doubt yourself… especially if the few people (the one person?) in your life are always saying you’re the one to blame.
Do y’all know what I mean? Can you imagine it? I mean, I’m not saying that we lived in a school bus and God told me to kill my babies with rocks. I’m just saying that it’s hard to be alone. It can literally drive you crazy. I’m just saying that it’s sad that people can be so lost/trapped alone in an overcrowded world. Nobody wants to build a village that will raise a child. I don’t blame them – we’re all busy. Every mother has to build her own village, I guess. Good luck, y’all.
Thank God I control my own life now and I’m surrounded by people who care about us. It makes everything easy. People tell me, “It must be so hard for you, being a single mom,’ and I don’t even know what they mean. Yeah, it would be nice to have more money and more grown up time and it’d be nice not to worry about getting mugged. But I bet that goes for everyone, huh? I wouldn’t trade the life I have now for the life I had then. I’d rather die.
Are my dreams a test? “Surprise, Gwen – here you are in your old life again! See if you can get out of it. You can’t do shit, can you? You’re fucking weak.” Why is it so difficult to escape in these dreams?
Because it’s difficult in real life, I guess. It took me ten freaking years. I guess I should be proud if I can now do it in only ten minutes, in my sleep.
Okay, that’s all. Normally, I like to tell only small or mellow truths here. But, sometimes, I have to be totally for real.
