Never Ending Nightmare

I start to feel heavy and slow breaths hit the back of my neck. The warmth; his moist lips delicately planting soft kisses on my neck down my shoulders, giving me the satisfaction I have been withdrawing from. His hands; subtle touches, making my body tingle each time he touches my skin, as if he is memorizing every curve and mark embedded into me. I sit; back against him while he keeps breathing down my body, and as I start to slightly turn my head, he reaches up to the nape of my neck, delicately grasping me while he positions his lips right up to my ear, whispering “your beautiful little body… you drive me wild”. His words, although appealing, cause me to pull away in intimidation.

I look down at the floor avoiding a response, and finally turn to tell him I love him, and find myself sitting alone. I am in the middle of an array of people, and spot him, watching his moist lips move slowly while he is whispering into another girls ear. I watch his delicate hands slide up and down her leg and a smile forms across his lips as he does. He grabs her close and hugs her tightly. I watch. I stare. My eyes start to glaze over and my mouth slowly becomes ajar. I get up to escape the party, but can’t seem to find a way out. I am stuck and I am lost. I start to scream I start to cry. The faces in the crowd start to become familiar. I see my mother, staring at me wanting to come to my rescue, but can’t get through the thickened packed of people. My father stands in front of me with a frozen look that carries no emotion as he watches the pain draw out from my body in all physical forms. He stands and watches as if he were a brick wall, only there to block my way instead of guide me to a safe zone. All of my old friends sit and giggle under their breath, point their fingers at me, knowing that they all found something that made them better than me. I start to scream louder and louder, but no matter what I do, Trevor is everywhere I turn, putting his hands on this unfamiliar person. Every time I give him my attention, I start to feel his hands touch me in the same places he is touching this stranger. I can’t stop it. It makes me feel aroused yet simultaneously feel this horrid pain. His touch is making me feel so good, but makes my heart hurt knowing this touch isn’t made for me. Soon I give in, and I become consumed with the feeling he is sending right down to my bones, becoming consumed with it, wanting it, needing it even if it isn’t for me. Just to have it, to feel it again. I give in. And that is when I wake up.

I wake to feel cold sweat dripping down my head and my boyfriend wiping my face asking me if I am okay. “it was just a nightmare”, he whispers. “its okay. You are awake now.” Except it wasn’t just a nightmare. It was the reality I couldn’t face. It was the pain I couldn’t deal with and it kept chasing after me. Tossed into a new day frazzled, I get up anxiously, and start my old routine. I make some coffee and I start my bagel. Making my way to the skin, I start running cold water, and stare up at myself in the mirror for a few moments. I splash water on my face and look back up in the mirror. I am still the same. I open the window shade and look out to see two college aged guys inhaling their cigarettes on the balcony across from mine. They both are shivering, beings its only five degrees outside. One holds a beer in his left hand while the other holds a coffee. We all stare at the snow that lies between our apartments. Three feet of white bliss covers the ground before us, sparking while the morning sun shines down it asking for us to smile and greet our new day. It makes my stomach churn, wishing and hoping I could just go back to sleep, to dream another nightmare of my reality I couldn’t have; its better to see him in my dreams that not see him at all.  Sleeping at least awakens my soul, and releases all of my desires even if I did lock them up and throw away the key. My dreams always find a way to them. I end up sitting in front of the window for longer than I expect. “Good morning dear.” My boyfriend walks into the living room and kisses me on top of my forehead.

“Good morning”. I whisper back. I feel guilty, but I don’t want to be alone. I think he knows that something happened while I was gone. I think he knows my feelings have changed for him, but he doesn’t know in what ways they have changed. He seems to keep holding on to the idea that we are going to be together forever. At least his dream is actually in his reach. Mine lies on the opposite side of the world. Mind lies in my dreams. It needs to change, but I just can’t seem to let it go. He comes and wraps his arms around me as I stand like a statue in front of the window.

I start to image Trevor’s arms wrapped around me instead. I close my eyes and imagine that I am still seeing the ocean at my patio, hearing my man in the kitchen making us our morning coffee, just the way I like it with a dab of milk and two spoonfuls of sugar, the spoon clicking against the coffee cups ever so slightly. We would then sit out looking over the water drinking our coffee, enjoying the rays of sunshine that beat down on us with glory. As we would finish our last sips, he would give me a grin, pulling me through the sliding glass door, tugging on my shirt, leading me over to the bathroom. As he would start the water, running his fingers through it to make sure the temperature was just right, he would make his way back over to me, slipping his hands under my shirt, lifting it above my head, and worked his way down. Once his mission was achieved, he would scoop me up and set me in the running water and quickly remove his boxers and jump in to join me, lathering me up in my cocoa vanilla body soap starting with my feet, bending down at his knees, resting my feet on his upper thigh, making sure he squished the soap in-between my toes. As he would make his way to my head, he exchanged the soap in his hands for my shampoo and massaged it slowly into my scalp under the running water, making me feel as I were the luckiest woman in the world. He enjoyed washing my body. It pleased him knowing that what he was washing was what he dirtied, and nobody else touched what he owned. Afterwards, he would scoop me up in his arms and push me against the glass, gliding his hands all over my body, sending arousing vibrations to run through all of my limbs. I would wrap my legs around his waist while having my arms tightly hooked around his neck, waiting frantically, impatiently, for him to make the next move and I satisfyingly groaned once he did, never wanting him to stop. Once finished, we would wash away our sexual satisfactions and greet the day with a joyous smile.

We would split for the rest of the day until evening came and we were both done with out days of slaving over studies and assignments, as we wanted to make sure we had our ducks in a row and to make sure our future was worth living for. Life isn’t worth living unless you do it right after all. When those evenings came, I would always be smiling, greeting him excitedly, passionately, creeping my hand up his thigh as I went in for a kiss. He loved that. I love that. Once we made ourselves comfortable on the couch, I would turn to sit on his lap, and unbutton his left arm sleeve and rolling it up to make sure it matched with the seams. Then, I would repeat the process with the right arm sleeve, and make my way down to his pants. It was comforting knowing his routine and having him smile as he watched me take after his routine for him.  I loved making him smile. It made me smile.

I open my eyes again, forgetting where I was. Everything has changed now. It’s hard to imagine how happy I was, and how real it was. It was as if it never happened at times. I never was really gone and I always have been stuck in this rut. There has always been cold brutal weather, with cold people surrounding me. There were never any oceans and no settling breezes of cool air sweeping by my face. There never were those showers in the morning where a lover would sweep me off my feet just to wash them for me. It never existed and it was all a dream. But it wasn’t. It was real and so is the heartache; the heartache from him leaving me. Kyle, who still stands with his arms wrapped around me, is nothing more than my supportive cushion, someone to lean back on when my knees give out from the pain of my aching heart.  He is there for me and I care for him, but he will never be able to replace those shoes; those shoes of a man who had stolen my heart, that made me feel what it was like to be in love. He was a man who left me become an empty shell with nothing to give but a fake appearance of something valuable and worthy.

All this time I stand in front of the window and have everything come alive in my memory. As I do, Kyle continued his way into the kitchen, watching me acting as if he is concentrating on something else. After awhile, I realize I need to quit avoiding the day, and start my meditation. I sit and close my eyes for a moment and inhale 3 deep breaths, exhaling the stress that is bottled up inside me. I have been seeing the therapist for 3 months now and her meditating hasn’t been unscrewing my lid to the suppressed feelings I am supposedly carrying inside of me.  It actually feels like since I have been seeing her, the lid is getting screwed on even tighter. She is the one doing the screwing. Yes, I am being screwed. Out of all the times people say that, it is usually interpreted as something satisfactory or an accomplishment. I wish this would be one of those cases. After my deep breathes and some mild thinking, I decide to say fuck meditating and pull out the only cure to my uncontrollable mind.

I inhale and exhale. I inhale and exhale. Slowly and surely repeating the same process as my therapist wants but just including a bit of THC in the healing process. The goal of therapy is to relieve my mind from the negativity in my life, or at least in the ways I perceive my life being negative. And with the way she runs things, It will take me years, and she will be smiling knowing she reaps all the benefits. I am supposed to be thankful for the life I have, and by all means I am, but when is happiness going to be involved? I mean pure happiness, not the one that lies on all faces in exchange, the kind that is masking us all. Do we, as humans know what true happiness is? Or when we can really say we are happy. Is it a choice? In my case, it hasn’t been.  Yet I don’t give it much of a chance either. I sit and finish my smoking meditation, waiting for my mind to stop, and for me to control the only reality that sits before me. The reality of trying to let go and move on, to accept the way things are and live with what I have and be happy with what I have. I stare at the snow once more out the window and greet it with the smile its been asking me for, and flick it off as I turn around. I look down at my sleeves and roll them up to match the seams, and mournfully push on through my day........

TO BE CONTINUED - LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK SO FAR! Thanks :)