This happened to me last night. And I know damn well why. There was a guy present last night that called my friend a “whore” and then told her he was going to “fuck her barrette right out of her hair.” I had wanted to say something, but then she handled it by saying, “I really think it is wise if we change the topic of this conversation.” And then repeated herself with a very long, meaningful look at him. I’m glad she said something. And if she reads this....I’m proud of you. This was after he was trying to show everyone how easily he could dominate his dog. It was so disturbing. I’ve heard him capitalize on women’s insecurities before. He did it to another friend of mine the last time we were all together. I get the sense that he is aware of this perception because he started to say things like, “see, now that everyone thinks I abuse my dog....”. It is pretty pathetic. It is so apparent that he says these things to try to gain people’s approval. Hence the retreat, he wasn’t getting it. So funny how you can see it for what it is when you aren’t caught up in it, but when you are in it, you don’t see how pathetic the person is. I know some of the people reading this know him and are friends with him. I make no apologies...I just can't fucking stand this guy.
The dreams were so disturbing that I couldn’t get up and face the day. After I woke up I just pulled the covers over my head and tried to pretend I didn’t exist. I just woke up now. It is almost 6:00pm.
This guy that I had gotten naked with and made out with a few weeks ago after becoming completely obliterated (that real-life incident is something that I feel ashamed about because I don’t do things like that) came into the picture. He had a house and had been letting me use it to work on a project of mine while he wasn’t home. It wasn’t far from my parent’s house in the dream.
I knew he had work to do (we both did) and when I arrived back at his place he was home. I really had to gather my things, but I was hoping to spend some time with him. Apparently we were somewhat “together.”And I walked into his place and immediately stripped down and then entered his room where he was working, on the bed, completely clothed. He looked completely annoyed and said, “Why are you here?”
I immediately backpedaled and stammered out that I had to get my clothes and my project. I couldn’t just leave it all there. He said okay, but he looked annoyed. And then I went over to the bed and laid next to him, still naked, and asked him to just hold me. He reluctantly did so but I felt so unwanted.
I think reading some of the posts about the emotional abuse that have been appearing lately brought up a lot of this. I don’t think this is a bad thing. Note: this particular individual is a respectful, decent person. I think he represented a part of my psyche because I had been physically vulnerable with him and because of the shame (that I wish I didn’t have) that is associated with the experience.
Then he became Scott for the remainder of the dream. We were somewhere else. Somewhere with mountains that arose out of nowhere. One moment the terrain was flat, the next there was this huge mountain, the base of which began less than fifty feet from where I was at a picnic table sorting through my laundry (huh, another laundry dream). There were people everywhere. People trying to run up the snow packed into the crevices in the side of the mountain without falling down. There was an electric fence at the top (for some reason I could see the top) and people could only climb up the mountain and then come back down the same side. They couldn’t “conquer” it, so to speak.
I left for a time and went back to my hotel room. I remember feeling unsafe because the door was put on backwards. And only the lock in the doorknob worked. The deadbolt was on the outside. And I thought about calling the front desk and asking for a new room, but I was afraid they’d think I was complaining, so I didn’t.
And then I realized I didn’t have any clean underwear. I don’t know what happened to it. All I had on was a short, tight mini t-shirt. I couldn’t put on the underwear I had just taken off because it was dirty. So I had to walk back through the hotel, trying to avoid people, covering my pubic hair with my hand so they couldn’t tell that I wasn’t wearing anything down there.
I had to climb down open sets of stairs (meaning there were open slats between the steps) out by the mountain to get back out to the picnic table where my laundry was. But there were people, men, beneath the steps and I didn’t want them to be able to look up and see “into me.” So I found a ladder that was somewhat hidden (I had to step over a wall to climb down it) and this covered my backside, but not my front. So I’m in this little chute of sorts, that is transparent on one-side, trying to twist my body around so that my front is protected. And some men see me and they are laughing at me as I’m trying to get down this ladder because I almost got myself stuck.
I finally make it down and I run, covering myself, over to the picnic table and this man has thrown my laundry everywhere. And I’m so angry, but I quickly put on clothes...they didn’t matter. Everyone had seen me half-naked. So all they saw of me was the naked girl, even wearing jeans.
He was there. Scott. And we sat down to play poker. There was a dealer, but rather than the dealer dealing out our cards, he just showed me “my hand” and then proceeded with the “flop” (it was Texas hold ‘em). According to what he had shown me, I had four tens. So I went “all in.” Then this other man said I shouldn’t have done that and criticized me as if I didn’t know what I was doing. So the other guy went all in. And when the hand was played out, I had nothing. No tens. The other guy had won. I said to the dealer, “But you showed me my hand..I had the tens!” He denied this and claimed that I didn’t know what I was talking about. I said, “I know how to play this game!” He again denied it and I looked like an asshole.
So, I went back to the room, but it was a different room. It was “our” room, Scott’s and mine. And as I walked in the door, the dealer and the other guy that was criticizing me walked out. And I knew they were in on it. I knew Scott had something to do with this. I whispered to the dealer, “I know you were paid off.” And then gave the other guy a disgusted “up-and-down.” He said, “Do you molest everyone with your eyes?” And then I said loudly over my shoulder as I entered the bedroom part of the room, “Yeah, I’m an equal opportunity molester.” Knowing full well that joking about molestation or child abuse was what cut Scott to the core...it was my only source of retaliation for the trick he had played on me. The only weapon of defense that I had. It was the only way I had any power over him whatsoever.
Scott’s wife was in the room. She was on one bed, he was on the other. I flopped down next to her. She commented that she didn’t mind my being there, if I could just remember to take my shitty music out of the CD player. She began making fun of it. He went along with her, laughing, even though I knew it was one of his favorite CD’s. I remember begging him to know that I had never cheated on him (during our relationship, when I had been contemplating a tattoo on my lower back, the asshole displaying the flash had asked him if he had a problem with me exposing my ass to strangers. Scott had replied that the entire city population had already seen my ass, “what was one more?” I felt totally humiliated. I was anything but the whore he was making me out to be. I had never cheated on him. Now does the running around with my privates exposed make sense?). And then I said that even my relationship with Jeremiah hadn’t been cheating on him because I had broken up with him first!
That is all I remember. That I felt I had to defend relationships I’ve had in the years since we split up. That is how embedded he is in my psyche. That I feel, despite the fact that he was part of a concerted effort to screw me over in the poker game “read: poke her game” and humiliate me for trusting that my hand was what they said was and thus go “all in” I was still begging him to see that I hadn’t betrayed him.
I discovered a lot since I wrote this out. I made connections to actual memories that I had forgotten completely about (or more accurately, blocked out). I understand the nature of my feelings of betrayal now that I'm going forward with this whole thing. Not that I had forgotten the things he had said or done, but I'd buried the horrible emotions associated with these experiences.
I highly recommend keeping a dream journal for this reason.