Staking My Territory

Dear Diary:

My dreams are metastasizing.

If it were just Type One and Type Two mashed together, I would sneer. So what if I'm naked? The thing that held such terror for me when I was a teen, now barely registers on my radar. Now it seems to team up with “you have to go back to high school to take that class you missed / dropped, otherwise your entire career is a lie because you don't have your diploma.” Um, have you seen the state of the world recently? Don't threaten me with a good time. Back to high school as an adult? When I can drive myself to school? Who cares if I miss the bus? So what if I'm naked when I miss the bus? You want to stare at boobies that have their own zip code? Each?

Or, they conspire to join up with Type Three, “the river is flooding / filled with dangerous sea creatures, the house has fallen in, and now we're all floating downriver out of control!” But now I'm naked, and I can't get to class to boot? That's downright silly.

Why, yes, I do classify my recurring dreams and nightmares, don't you?

All right, all right, I'll stop being a smart-aleck.

No, it's not all that fun, having dreams all the time. Every night, all night. Type Four? The interminable trip, where all I do is drive and drive and drive, and never get anywhere? Type Four-A, where the brakes go out? Type Four-B, where we get to the destination, and the place is closed, or the squishie machine doesn't work, or I don't have enough coinage for the squishies. Incredibly frustrating, and always when I'm in a high-stress situation in real life.

(Squishies? Those elongated souvenir pennies. I may be a smidge addicted. Just a bit. Shiny happy squishy smushy goodness! I may do little squee dances when I get them or squish them. Hee hee I gots my squishies, oh yesss I do... Ahem. Moving right along...)

Unfortunately, as of recently, most of my recurring dreams right now are Type Fourteen-B. One of the worst.

A particular person has been trying to insert themselves into my dreams.

It doesn't matter which type of repetitive dream. Type Eight? The serial killer chasing me is this particular person. Type Ten? This person follows me to a party or event, and Will. Not. Leave. Type Thirteen? I am forced to stay at this person's house and make all polite and nicey-nice till I can get the bleep out of there. I mean, don't hotels exist anymore or something??

Sigh.

Now, is this person actually doing something stalkery and mystical and entering my dreams, or is it just a reflection of my own frustration? It doesn't matter, really. That's not the problem. Likely it's not even the right question to ask myself. What matters is that I need to develop the dream tools to kick this bleeping bleeper OUT.

Who is it?

Good question.

I thought we had a relationship. I thought it was meant to last forever. I thought a lot of things, until the day the switch flipped in their brain.

I missed the absolute hate behind the person I thought cared about me, understood friendship, was capable of feeling love.

Only recently did I learn what horrid lies they were spreading behind my back, poisoning my relationships to make themself look like the victim.

They are finally out of my life. So why are they sliding into my dreams?

Likely because I would love, with a deep and abiding fervor, to strangle that bleep of a bleep until they choke on their own bile. Can't do that in public, really. It causes issues. I repeat my mantra: You Can't Wear Jewelry In Prison. You' be surprisd how many times that phrase has kept me from getting in serious trouble.

I was used, I was lied to, I was manipulated, and I was discarded when I started to catch on. I am angry, and I want revenge, and I'm so disgusted with myself for falling for it.

I want them to pay.

I know I'm not the only one. You, dear reader, or someone you know very well is quite likely going through the same emotions.

You know the type. I won't say the words, since they're rather over-used right now, but this person definitely fits the profile.

It happened again last night. In my dreams, I was happily planning a trip to see a lighthouse, and suddenly I was forced to stay at their house, which they don't even own, for a week while some sort of function played out. And there I was, keeping all my friends away from this predator, because this person was quite clear multiple times that they would destroy my friendships systematically given a chance.

Now, they will never have that chance.

Only in my dreams? I think not!

Here's the thing, and this is the heart of the problem: I do not need to get revenge.

No, really, I do not need to. Justice has already been served.

Really.

How do I know?

Because I got out.

Of the nightmare, of the relationship, of the feeding cycle.

And, believe me, that pisses off their emotional vampiric kind like nothing else.

I survived the abuse.

I picked up the pieces of my life, and moved on.

And I found the strength to carry on, while the scars and broken places heal.

The nightmares can only terrorize for so long, and then they lose their bite. Already, I can feel their grip fading, even as they claw at old hurts and painful pockets of emotion, trying to re-create the sympathy I once had for them.

Oh, honey, it's gone. You were a complete waste of time, money, and (this one hurts), emotional bandwidth when I didn't have it to spare. You took, and you took, and you demanded more, and got disgusted with me and lashed out when I told you I needed to work on myself and my other relationships, which I'd been neglecting.

You can't logic the relationship back. You can't reason it back into existence. It never existed, and these people do not respond to mere words. You could sacrifice everything you have, were, and ever will be to their self-immolating fire, and it will never be enough. Words are empty to these people. So easy to twist and fling back at the sender, to make themselves look like your victim instead of the other way around.

This isn't a Darth Vader thing, where there is still good in them. Nope. It's just a mask, one of many, easily discarded. Easily picked up again when it's useful.

The best revenge is not being there when the mask comes back.

It will drive them mad, trust me. They LOST. They lost me, their control over me, and their arrogant self-assurance that they won. They didn't win, they know it, and it burns constantly from the inside out.

In my dreams, I'm sure they'll be back eventually. But I'll be ready, and we'll play the not-engage dance all over again.

Last night, I ignored them, and continued talking to and protecting my friends. And eventually they retired to their bedroom for a serious case of the sulks. I only looked around for them to make sure I knew they didn't corner someone, and start feeding.

I think I need a Type Fifteen: Vampire Killer.