Hag-ridden

Nightmares for me come and go in spurts. I can't have one without having a week's worth following, and I seem to be in that rut right now.

The other morning I shook awake, dazed and with a sinking feeling in my stomach. I looked to the other side of the bed and Scott wasn't there. I knew he was probably sleeping on the couch, never making it to bed, but I wanted him next to me. I wanted to be comforted.

I got up out of bed and padded into the living room and found Scott on the couch with my afghan tucked under his chin, elbows, and toes, making him look mummified. My head knew it was just a dream, but it didn't feel like a dream. It felt real. I sat down on the floor next to my mummy and awoke him from the dead. "Baby, I had a nightmare."

"Another one?" he mumbled. "Shh, it wasn't real," and he patted my head like he would to an attention-starved puppy.

"It feels real; it hurts," but Scott already fell back asleep. I got on my knees and laid my head on his chest for comfort. I began to sob.

"Hey, hey, hey," he said, waking back up. He began to stroke my hair, "Don't cry. What was the dream?"

Describing your dream that has moved you to tears doesn't always sound logical when you say it out loud. With each detail, I felt more foolish, knowing he wouldn't understand how deeply it affected me:

"We had been fighting recently, and you went out of town for some reason. On a phone call, you told me you were seriously reconsidering our relationship. I wanted to fight for you, so I dropped my plans and went to whatever city you were in. By the time I got there, you had buddied up with some Amy Winehouse-looking girl and she said you would be perfect for this game show they were taping.

"When I found you, you were sitting with her at a card table and interviewing other contestants for the game show. I told you I wanted to speak with you, and she suggested that I audition for you like the other contestants. You laughed and agreed. I began to cry, pleading to you that my feelings weren't a game and our relationship wasn't a game, but you made me go through the audition. And I didn't pass."

Scott was fully awake by now. "That's just your own insecurities," he said. "If you think that has any grain of truth to it, you're wrong."

Obviously Scott's right, but his response startled me. I didn't actually realize I am insecure about the relationship. Or that he knew it too. I'm actually a little horrified he knows--insecurity is not an attractive quality to possess; it leads to other traits like jealousy and mistrust. And he already complains about my trust issues.

And then V had to go and write about working out emotional issues in your sleep, which startled me just as much, reminding me of the whole ordeal all over again. I am in the most stable relationship of my life--I am living with him--how can I still be insecure? Will I ever get over my fear of being abandoned?

"Just don't go auditioning for any game shows," I sniffed, still laying on Scott's chest. "And stay away from any Amy Winehouse-looking characters."