I dreamed about my stupid narcopath ex again. I don’t know why I keep dreaming about him because I never actually think about him and no longer care about him. My primary “emotion” toward him is slightly annoyed indifference. I don’t even feel much anger anymore. Just boredom. Honestly, if he were killed in a car accident tomorrow, I doubt I’d care that much, except for the impact it would have on our kids. He’s like a stranger to me, one I’m glad I have almost nothing to do with.
In these dreams, he’s always doing better than me and I resent the hell out of it because I think he’s so undeserving and an insufferable ass who deserves to be deprived instead of me. I know that makes me sound like the narcissist instead of him, but it’s the truth. These feelings come out in my dreams. Here’s the latest.
In the dream, the knob on my ancient stove (the real one I actually have) stopped working. The white paint that spelled the numbers and the “OFF” were long rubbed off, but I had still been able to tell if it was off or on because of the little “click” when I turned it that told me it was off. But the knob kept spinning in place and wouldn’t click. Something seemed to be broken or loose.
I don’t know what kind of place we were in. There were all these strange people walking around, like it was the middle of a public hallway somewhere. So here I was, sitting on the floor in the middle of this hallway, with all these strangers walking back and forth, angrily fuming and fiddling with the broken stove knob. I knew I couldn’t afford to buy a new stove, or even have the thing repaired.
My ex was over in another corner, with all his new toys, like it was Christmas morning or something. He had TWO new coffeemakers (why?), a set of brand new dishes, an ice cream maker, a deep fryer, an espresso maker, a juicer, and an expensive food processor. Their boxes and packaging were strewn nearby. I went over to ask him to help me with the stove knob, and that’s when I saw all his new kitchen loot. I was enraged and jealous.
“Where the HELL did you get all that new stuff? TWO coffee makers? Why would you need TWO goddam coffeemakers? Who the hell NEEDS two coffeemakers?” I yelled, outraged.
He ignored me. That enraged me even more.
“Where did you get the money to buy all that crap, HUH? Who you freeloading off of this time?” I demanded. “I know you didn’t EARN it!” He continued to act like I wasn’t there.
“Maybe you STOLE it!” I accused. I thought of all the times he had stolen money out of my wallet while I slept. Or the time recently when he stole the money my daughter had been saving to move to her own apartment.
Blood roared in my head. “NO ONE NEEDS TWO FRIGGIN’ COFFEEMAKERS!” I screamed.
Did I expect him to give me one? Maybe I did. I wasn’t sure. All I knew was that this injustice made my blood boil. This POS who had freeloaded off me for seven years so he could get disability and never have to work a day in his life again had two brand new coffeemakers and a bunch of other useless kitchen crap that he’d probably never use. And I had nothing but a broken stove and bills I couldn’t pay.
I looked around. The people walking back and forth ignored us. They might as well have not heard me yelling. Maybe they didn’t hear me. I didn’t care if they did or not. I was beyond niceties.
I fixed my gaze back on the narcopath. I imagined my eyes were two laser beams boring into his blackened soul. “Hey! I need you to help me fix my stove. The knob is broken and I don’t know how to fix it. And unlike YOU, I can’t afford to buy a new stove or have it fixed. So I need your help if you can tear yourself away from your new toys long enough to come have a look.”
He continued to open his packages, pulling styrofoam out of another box. Maybe it was a third coffeemaker. His two coffeemakers sat side by side on the floor, taunting me. I felt like drop kicking them into the wall. I glared balefully at them instead. Those innocent hunks of plastic and brushed chrome represented everything I hated about this man.
“Hey. I’m talking to YOU. I need you to help me with my stove.” I had the broken knob in my hand. I shoved it in his face so he would look. He still ignored me. What the hell was his problem? I looked back to where the stove had been, but I didn’t see it. I wasn’t too concerned. After all, this was a dream and as far as I was concerned, the stove was still there.
I asked people around if they had seen the stove. I showed them the knob. No one had seen it. Strange. But I still knew it was there. I walked back over to where my ex sat and continued my tirade and demands. I wanted him to suffer.
“Well, you insufferable ass. Since you refuse to help and continue to give me the silent treatment, I want one of those damn coffeemakers,” I said. He was still ignoring me.
I woke up and laughed. What a ridiculous, absurd dream. What an complete entitled bitch I had been in it too. Narcopath or not, no one deserved to be treated the way I treated him in the dream. I would never actually behave that way in real life. But in the dream itself, I was really mad and couldn’t control my rage and envy. I don’t really know why, unless I’m still harboring anger toward him. Or maybe just anger in general.