I don't know what to do with wanting to escape so badly that I find myself disturbed by fantasies of my ex's death. Dreams where he dies. And stops his games. And stops hurting me. Dreams where I feel relief at the end of all this ridiculousness.
In my dream, I have peace. I fly to a tower and of course, have Orange Pekoe tea. As in OP. Which I find comical because I've been called "OP" in that addictive game of minecraft which in server speak means "over powerful" or something like that.
In my dream there are no tethers. No hooks. No chains. I'm free.
Just my wingless self that somehow magically flies above the ground with a robed dude and his six year old son.
And then I wake up. And my hex won't stop abusing me.
And I wish that I were still sleeping in a world where my ex has never existed. Or sometimes I fantasize about some sort of wrath of divine action on the part of the Almighty--striking him dead in some sort of dramatic fashion for all the world to finally see. For the jig to be up.
Except that I'm not sure that there is an Almighty. Nor am I so sure kharma exists.
And so I turn on myself. Hate myself for having such thoughts, such dreams, such fantasies. Because, honestly, I don't know what to do with such thoughts. Am I a monster? I don't really know. Am I deluding myself into somehow sainting myself and making my ex the evil demon character in a medieval fantasy novel? I don't really know.
Am I not being honest with myself? Am I not allowing space? Am I somehow crowding? I don't really know. Because, how else could my life have arrived at this locale? How else could I become so consumed with thinking of the day when I get out of this prison. Which maybe happens when he magically dies by lightening strike.
Truth of the matter is, the days without the death fantasies are far worse. On those days, I don't dream of his death. I only dream of my own. Cause at least then, all of this would end.
