Good Dreams Gone Bad


I dreamt I was a minor goddess.

Young, lithe, long dark hair, wise and filled with magic.

I lived, mostly voluntarily, in an immense cube, like within a city building only entirely open.  Glass windows, steel girders, little rooms along the ledges.  Greenery of vines and leaves and flowers grew all along the walls.  Part fishtank, part post apocalyptic city building, part cage.  But I had chosen it.  I would swim/fly back and forth, luxuriating in my ability to move effortlessly. 

I flew.

I loved to fly.  I flew back and forth and touched the girders and the leaves and gathered fruits and thought the thoughts of goddesses.

Two younger women joined me, to learn the art of ‘flight’.  Muses in training.  We rested upon a shelf in the lower reaches of our ‘habitat’, where I proceeded to impart to them the fine art of flight.  I showed them how to move, how to think, how to feel what they would need to feel in order to take part in our limited sky.

I flew above them, joyful in my freedom and loving my skill. 

I had been called.  It was time.  I flew high above, up to a ledge covered in vines.  Dark, like twilight, with a sky of steel girders and leaves silhouetted against the stars.  A ‘man’ joined me, a minor god himself, I don’t know if he flew or merely appeared.  I was shy, and stared into the deep shadow amidst the vines.

My ‘God’ whispered to me, to take on my power.  So, I ran my hands in the air beside me, creating a space, and I pulled myself into my power, pulled my power into myself.  I was sizzling with it, in a trance, filled to bursting.  The man, a very dark man, black as pictures of the devil, he began to make love to me.  But my “god’ told him to get on with it.  The man said he wanted to be gentle, be kind to me, to bring me pleasure.  But the ‘god’ told him sharply to just impregnate me.  The man began to go down, but again the ‘god’ chastised him.  So the man began to enter, sadly, it wasn’t how he had wanted to be with me.  I was still in a trance, distanced, dissociated from my body as the ‘god’ and the man discussed how I would be treated.  In the end, I was impregnated, as if with the ‘god’s power, to fulfill my purpose in passing on my power to the next generation. 

I had been used by one I thought cared about me, whom I served in love and trust.  I was merely a tool for him, in the end, and those that might actually have loved me, have showed me how they cared, had been relegated to tools as well.  I was a priestess, a muse, a seer, a powerful being, yet still I was merely a plaything for other powers.  I did not feel angry toward the man, it wasn’t his fault, he was pushed into the entire thing anyway.  And somehow I did not feel anger towards the ‘god’ because that was my role in life, simply to serve.

Going with the flow.  Accepting destiny, no matter how cruel and careless tools we are for other beings.  Simply accepting our role without malice, or self preservation, or sorrow.

There is a reason I still choose the goddess, not the god.  Any man has yet to prove to me that they treat women as anything more than a nuisance and a convenience food, worthless stuff to be consumed and discarded like trash.  Receptacles for their own emotional and psychological trash.  Hung up to be tortured and abused at their leisure.  Distorted and gutted and physically warped to fit their filthy, selfish, twisted desires.  Fed to the lions when they no longer amuse.

I feel like he only wants me now that I am properly emotionally and sexually damaged.  Now I am at a level he can look down on me, and have no respect for me like always, because I am so broken I can barely move.  He finally has me right where he always wanted me, tortured and desperate for any crumb of tenderness after enduring all the years of contempt and hate flooding into me in a few months of lies. 

And he may be the only person I can deal with now.  Someone who can’t look at other women with me around.  Someone who’s sex life is so fucked up that they can’t have a normal one either, anymore than I will ever be able to enjoy sex with anyone without fear and pain and hiding and self loathing.  He gets to have things just the way he always wanted, a broken doll for his broken lust.  I feel it, all of it, all the pain of the hundreds of broken people he dragged in between us, stuck into me as he stuck himself between my legs, forced all their hate and disgust and self loathing into my body.  I do not know what to do with all that pain, all that which isn’t mine to bear, but there is no safe place to put it, to make it go away.

I was vulnerable with him, because I chose to love him, so he took advantage and broke me in tiny pieces.  I will never be the same.  I will always have places he can hurt me whenever he feels like punishing me for anything.  He gets to have his power, now that the abuse has already been accomplished.

Maybe he tells himself he didn’t want to see me damaged.  Maybe he thinks he means that he wants me to be whole.  Yet, I see his choices.  Choices he made for years.  I see whom he chose to spend his energies and time and money with.  I see the broken person I have become, now that he says he wants me.  Now.  Now that I am just another broken little baby doll.  My heart, my soul, are diseased and sickened with the filth.

I wonder, if I truly find myself to become strong again, which I don’t see how I will ever be anything as strong as I was when we met, I have too many cracks, too many triggers, too many terrors, too much emotional torture, I wonder if he will merely fear me again, and try to beat me down again. 

I will not put up with that.  If he ever wrongs me again, we will both regret the outcome.

I am a finger of the goddess, here to experience this world.

Love was my true goal.

The cards said so.

Gods help me.

I hope so.

I must let go the past.

Forgive a debt that can never be repaid.

How can there possibly be a cleaner future?

How can I let it go and protect myself from more abuse?

How can I give this an honest try when I have no trust and so much reason to fear him?

One second I want to try, to really try.  I want to be that strong, giving, forgiving person I thought I was.  The next second I feel a terrible need to find a corner to scream out my pain and terror.  The closer I try to get to him, the louder the scream seems to be.  I want him to fix it.  I want to run away run run run.  I want to make him understand how horrible and broken he has made me and he will never understand and worse I fear that is the only thing he truly wanted, someone damaged he could figure out how to actually break.

And now?  Is there any real regret for breaking me?  Or is he finally at peace only because he hurt someone, was able to make someone hurt worse than he hurt?  Does he get to be happy now that he has brought misery into someone else’s life?  Is he finally satisfied?  Does he really feel deep regret for what it took to make him look at himself?  Did I have to become his mirror for him to see how broken he is?

Is this all there is for me?

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