The picture to the left was my former, cat, which I just found out had been taken to the pound by my maybe ex-husband, without any consent on my part. I had been told that, “Sage had been given away,” but, in reality, he was dropped off at the pound. The pound is a kill shelter.
This trespass against my feelings, is just one incident to add to many in the relationship my maybe ex-husband and I have. I have been deeply hurt in many instances. Finding out my cat which I had raised since he was six weeks old was taken to the pound was only the most recent blow. I learned about this yesterday and I spent the entirety of last night having nightmares about my maybe ex-husband.
To give this some background, there was a time when my maybe ex-husband and I split that I was physically scared of him. I was afraid he might hurt me, even though he never had. He was acting that irrationally. I carried my keys and my phone with me everywhere that I went in the house. I wanted to be able to call 911 or leave the house and get into my car if I had to.
I haven’t had any indication recently that he would hurt me. Right now, he’s playing Mr. Nice, or he’s trying to.
I tossed and I turned last night. The most horrible scenes passed through my head. I dreamed about the cat first. I dreamed about him being taken to the shelter. I dreamed that I could get him back and, at one point, in the dream, I did. I got him back. He was at my house, outside, being the good cat that he was.
The dream evolved into something else with strange bits thrown in. I dreamed that for some reason my maybe ex-husband got me in a blue van in my driveway and he wouldn’t let me leave. I was terrified. For some reason my younger brother was there as well. I asked him to call 911, but my maybe ex-husband used whatever tactic he uses to convince people that he’s right and my brother wouldn’t call 911.
I tried to call 911 on my phone, but it wouldn’t work. I kept messing up. I was being held down. I would be laughed at. I finally got through and I wasn’t taken seriously. I could barely speak at this point. I was apparently having an anxiety attack and scared out of my mind. I was on the phone with the 911 operator when I realized that the maybe ex-husband had two hand guns.
I begged him to put them down. My words came in sobbing breaths. I couldn’t get free.
I did hear sirens. I saw blue lights, but they passed my driveway by. I had given the operator my address one word at a time. That’s all I could do through sobs.
When the sirens passed, I tried to yell for help, but my voice wasn’t very loud. I sort of croaked out the words, “Help me, help me,” but no one heard.
I dreamed that I missed an entire day of work because I had been dreaming these awful dreams for a day.
Finally, I woke up. I do not ever recall a time I was so relieved to wake up from a dream. It wasn’t real. I believe I actually told myself that, in my head, when I realized I was awake. It didn’t happen. It had been incredibly terrifying, but it hadn’t happened.