Who is Sleeping in Your Bed?

 

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I am asleep and you are not. There I am. Sound asleep, eyes closed in blissful repose seemingly unaffected by what unfolded earlier. My chest rises and falls in a slow rhythm, my breathing relaxed and regular. There may come a time when you want to halt that breathing. You may wish to place one of those full pillows across my peaceful face and press down with all your strength and will. You may wish to press it tight against my mouth and nose, leaning what bodyweight you have in order to prevent my frantic scrabbling hands from ripping away the pillow so I can breathe once again. That desire, although you will not do it, few have the willpower to see it through, may well appear time and time again and sooner than you think. The image of snuffing out such a toxic life through the concerted application of something so innocuous as a pillow. It is unlikely to be the only image which takes up residence in your head. Pictures of slips off cliffs, a hit and run, a toaster in the bath, some obscure and undetectable poison administered in a setting where there would be more suspects that Cluedo. So many murderous scenarios which you may well come to envisage say exactly as you are now. In our bed. In the middle of the night.

I sleep soundly, the sleep of the just and the righteous. The earlier incident has not troubled me. Or is it that I have fallen asleep in the stupor of drink, the alcoholic fumes having coaxed me into a coma? Then again, might it be a reliance on certain prescription drugs that I repeatedly avail myself of which has rendered me dead to the world? It may be any of those things, but whichever it is, I am asleep and you are not. You remain awake because you cannot sleep. You are sat, knees drawn to your chest, eyes fixed on me as your mind whirls. Amongst all the tumbling thoughts, the whirling considerations and the surging memories, one thought above all dominates, repeats and looms large.

 

Who is he?

 

What has prompted such earnest consideration? It was an isolated incident. Perhaps a savage rebuke when all seemed peaceful. A pleasant day that suddenly was torn apart by the acidic tongue which sprayed cutting remarks in your direction. You remember how I looked. It did not seem like me. I appeared possessed. Eyes darkened, brow furrowed, mouth twisted and expression set in one of hatred. You had never witnessed that before. In fact, you found the way I looked more frightening than what I said. Where did that come from? You are struggling to remember how the argument began. Something to do with not listening, that was it, but how it escalated. The irritation lasted but a moment before anger, rage and fury erupted and you found yourself shrinking away from this verbal violence. This had never happened before. Everything had been so wonderful. Yes, you had heard a couple of people remark about my temper but in all those blissful months you had never seen it appear once. Even during testing times, I remained calm, serene, almost glacial at times when the pressure mounted. That was part of why you admired me. My ability to keep my head. So what just happened but a few hours earlier? Who was that? It did not seem like me, but it had to have been me, there was nobody else in the room.

Now you sit in the still of the bedroom. The low glow from the lamp to your left shining across my features. There is no anger etched upon my face now. I look just how I always look when I sleep, as if nothing in the world could matter. You have often stayed up and watched over me, happy to stroke my chest or my brow, my occasional murmurs of satisfaction and the slight upturning of my mouth denoting the contentment that I derive from your attentive ministrations. So, I lie there, just as I would any other night. Sleeping. Calm. Tranquil. I am just the same as I always am on every other night when you have watched over me. Yet, still the question comes again. Who was that who appeared earlier?

Following the eruption, I went out and left you. You did not know what to do at first. You felt shell-shocked. Once you had gathered yourself you telephoned your best friend and explained what had happened, providing her with every detail of the wonderful day beforehand and every frame of the storm which blew up in an instant.

“Oh it’s nothing,” she said in her familiar reassuring voice, “couples argue, Pete and me we are always having rows. Let him cool off, he will be fine. Now, tell me about that new book you mentioned the other day, is it any good.”

Your best friend brushed it off. Perhaps she was right. After all, don’t all couples fall out at some time? Of course. Your parents did not do so, not often anyway, so perhaps you have an unrealistic idea of how you should get on together. Despite her reassurances you remained worried and called your sister.

“Blimey, that is a surprise,” she remarked after hearing your recollection, “he is always so lovely, I didn’t think he had it in him. He will be back. They always come back, he is probably feeling a bit of a tit for shouting at you and just needs to go and have a beer or something. Seriously, it is nothing to worry about.”

But worry you did. The succession of calls was made to other friends, your brother and your grandmother. They all rolled out reassurance and posited platitude in order to assuage your concerns.

“Oh don’t be so sensitive, you’ve had your first argument, welcome to the club.”

“I bet he is stressed, probably working too hard, you did say he has been working long hours recently. I bet he comes back with an apology and flowers. Just give him some space for an hour or two.”

“I would go berserk if I had to live with you sis, no, seriously, he is just letting off steam, you two are great together.”

“Oh your granddad had a foul temper but we never went to bed on an argument. That’s how we were married for fifty years. You expect too much; you have to work at a relationship my dear.”

They all thought along similar lines. It is part and parcel of a relationship. It just hurts because it is the first time. You want to hug me and say sorry for worrying so much but you do not want to disturb me. You chastise yourself for thinking too much into it. Of course, you always over-think things and as everybody said I came back. I returned after a couple of hours, smiled and took you in my arms as if nothing had happened. You did not want to talk about the incident. That black mark on an otherwise golden day and therefore you did not. Your relief at my smiling return was so great you did not want to let go of me and we stood hugging for several minutes. The rest of the evening passed with dinner and a film before heading to bed together where I fell asleep in an instant.

I showed no concern at what had gone on. There was no apology but you didn’t mind. You hadn’t any desire to re-visit what had happened, at least you did not want to do so with me, but you have not been able to help doing so for the last two hours as you have sat here in bed, looking at me, wondering and pondering. Those words were so venomous, that expression so hateful, even now the memory makes you feel on edge. Still, everybody you spoke to reassured you and they must be right mustn’t they, if they all thought along similar lines? People who have had longer relationships than you. They clearly know something about it and everybody played it down. It must be you over-reacting to a spat, a frightening one, but perhaps that was all it was. A one-off. An isolated incident. You hope it is because you did not like that person who I turned into, not one bit. You do not want to meet him again. He is not the person you fell in love with. He is not the person you adore and care for. He is not the person you moved in with and want to be with for the rest of your life. You did not recognise him. Whoever he was, he does not belong in your bed.

There I sleep. At ease. Content. Untroubled. You think you know me. You think you know who sleeps in your bed with you.

You have no idea.

That’s how easily it starts and neither you or anybody else knows the truth of who is sleeping in your bed.

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48 thoughts on “Who is Sleeping in Your Bed?”

      1. Then believe in it and I will also believe in it with ❤️❤️ And then one day it comes true 😃😃. I suppose its difficult to get into thar circle but with your talent!!!⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

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    1. At one point i told my friends and also someone I know who is a retired FBI agent that I wanted to kill the N. I have never felt so horribly violent inside towards someone. I wanted to shoot him right in the face. I wanted him to watch my face as I pulled the trigger.
      My family was a bit worried I would do it. But it has passed and now it is day number 12.

      Read the Exorcism by HG. This one is great, just read it today. I smiled so many times with this one. I had started the purging months ago instinctively and did not know it.

      Isn’t life grand. He is really lucky he discarded me.

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  1. who is? it is You… either started a devaluation on me already or had run low during the day on your fuel levels and you had to get some more so You could fall asleep as an angel. ..next to Your angel. .it is You dear G.♥

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  2. This is kind of interesting… That SOB did not sleep when all hell had broken loose previously that day or when ever. He kept me up and kept on me, it was insane!

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      1. Thank you and can’t wait to hear your thoughts on him.
        Also… Just reading some comments here and I think you should maybe get to work on a screen play but please end it with the empath winning and the narc meeting his end in a most satisfying way. Best movie I ever saw was Pacific Heights with Michael Keaton as the Psycho. If you have not seen it check it out. It’s gooooood!!!

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      2. Ps… Where will you post your thoughts on that email from him I posted? So I know where to look, I can’t remember which article I sent it to you under. Unless I emailed it privately which I don’t think I did. Thanks!

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      3. Guess it would have helped if I subscribed. I have now so I will keep an eye out for your dissection of my maniac. Thanks again!

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  3. So you do nothing? No apology, no good night or good night kiss? You just go to sleep? That is just to familiar!

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  4. Apologies HG! I forgot it is always are fault! Although I do remember s time long ago when I was asleep in my room and smelled smoke! When I came downstairs the arm of the sofa was on fire! He had passed out from drinking, I thought about it for a moment and the only thing that stopped me was my 2 children asleep upstairs at the time! If it were not for them I would of left the whole place go up in flames!!! There does come a time when even we are pushed to far!

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  5. The ability to shut off emotions is apparently a blessing and a curse. When I read some comments I cannot understand why people would be that distraught. When I read the post I can’t understand why she questions the thing. I would not think twice about it and go to sleep too. It happened, it’s over and we are no longer in the moment, we’ve moved on. I will keep account of the injury and let them add up to an unknown amount and then you will experience my rage. It will be a calculated attack. Do you do the same HG?

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    1. I understand your point of view. I exert sufficient control to ensure that my other interests are served (e.g. the façade remains intact) whilst noting the transgression and ensuring that it will be used against the victim at a later stage. As a Greater, nearly all of my “attacks” are calculated.

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  6. Could never fully fall asleep next to him, for no apparent reason. My subconscious knew him as a danger on a level that my aware self did not. It’s amazing how the love bomb completely overpowered the conscious intuitive mind.

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    1. Me either. Not uncommon. However, my narc would actually fart on me real loud in the middle of the night. I would wake up scared..it was so loud. And he would say: I didn’t mean it after I said why did you fart on me. It’s all diabolical.

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  7. Is this a rhetorical question? If not, you are not sleeping in my bed…nor will you. Don’t worry, if it ever happens, I will never smother you with a pillow or set bed on fire. You are welcome.

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  8. Who sleeps in my bed ? ME . 🙂

    Gone are the days where I was forced upstairs hiding from the violence. The nights where I went to bed & fell into a deep sleep only for the bright ceiling light to go on to wake me up & drag me out so he could finish off what he’d started .

    For him to fall into bed in a drunken stupor only to wake me again a couple of hours later demanding I go to the spare room in my own home.
    Or the nights after a violent argument where I’d barracked myself into the spare room only for him to try & force his his way in ( which he usually did ) Even then it was only to wake me & let’s not forget the night when he woke me up telling me to drink a glass of water laced with liquid nicotine ..
    I’m sleeping well now , alone , thank you very much & that’s the way it’s staying .

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  9. You never really know anybody. I mean, we all have our secrets. Me, I don’t sleep with a lover…I lay awake wondering what secret he’s keeping.

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  10. I used to lock myself in my room. I layed in bed praying and working my rage out with God. I’de beat him with a baseball bat like a piñata in my mind. Also I fantasized about having them beaten in s dark ally by imaginary men.. Thankfully I can count on the scriptures! Vengeance is mine! I will re-pay says the Lord. Reaping and sowing is a law that cannot be avoided. Fret myself not when the evil doer seems to prosper in his way.. His day is coming!

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  11. I had an affectionate name for my partner. Called her by that name all the time. One night, in bed, I called her by that name. In a voice I had never heard before, with a hostile affect I never saw before, she said, I am not your (insert previously affectionate name). I was shocked, creeped out and asked, well who are you, then? She looked at me with such contempt and hatred, that I left and slept on the couch. I should have just left–before she threw the large, heavy crystal ashtray at me for no apparent reason. Then wrote a disturbing poem about killing me with that ashtray and then presented it to me–as if it were a love poem. Before the body slams. Before the choking. I never thought I would say that I’m glad that I was in that relationship, but I am. Went to therapy and changed my life. But I am more than leary of people. I am not glad for that. I slept with evil, but now I know why. It was horrible to realize.

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