I woke from a dream recently in a slight panic, sweating, heart racing. In the dream, I saw myself sitting in the center of a room surrounded by people, but no one could see me. I'd stand in front of them, flailing my arms wildly, jumping up and down, trying to get their attention and still... they could not see me. In desperation, I started screaming.... a loud, harrowing scream, but they also could not hear me.

Dreams can mirror reality.

I know the many faces of my ex-husband. His public face among friends, at work, at the kids' schools... and his private face with me.

For many years, his private persona was characterized by a great deal of emotional restraint. His condescending, belittling comments were carefully delivered in a cool and calm demeanor..... so matter-of-fact that when I'd call him out on it, he'd look me calmly and say "wow. are you made of glass? why are you getting so worked up? All I said was...."

When enough of these moments built up, I'd eventually break down and stand in front of him, crying out of pent up sadness and anger and disappointment. He'd calmly turn on the tv, never taking his gaze off whatever show was far more important than the human (his wife) standing in front of him pleading for his empathy. Sometimes, after enough time had passed, he's look up and give me an are you done yet? look, or even grace me with a few words. Others, I'd escalate and raise my voice, desperate for him to please, please, please listen to me and hear what I was trying to say. To this, he'd eventually comment that I was acting out of control and that the whole world wasn't about validating my every need and feeling.

He was a fucking robot.

To the outside world, he was anything but. I'd often hear him tell me that his colleagues loved him. He had great relationships with people at work, to whom he offered mentorship and support. He displayed such emotional intelligence to the external world that it gave me hope that it could one day translate to our marriage.

Others found him funny and charming. At home, he was like Branch from the movie Trolls. Gray. Castrostrophic. With a dark, thundery cloud always over him. I'm more of a shoe-in for Poppy: colorful, lively and optimistic.... desperately hanging on so that his negativity wouldn't drain my soul. Others thought he was a fucking riot. A great guy. Lighthearted.

Sometimes I wondered.... Is it me that makes him so unhappy? Perhaps I just didn't make it safe for him to be vulnerable. funny. jovial. friendly. empathetic. kind.

To think that he was just a bully did not sit right with me. We had two children and I had to figure out a way to keep trying to make it work.

Often, he'd go on what I called emotional vacations. Most of the time, I didn't even understand what triggered his departure, only that something must have happened to upset him because suddenly by husband would disengage. I mean, barely speak to me in passing. Retreat into his shell. Disengage from our life and become extremely transactional. No affection. Just silence...

And passive aggressiveness.

For days, weeks, sometimes even months I'd tiptoe around just wanting my husband to come back. What did I do to make him go away? I'd wonder. Sometimes I had theories. Others I was at a complete loss.

I'd spend days practicing and rehearsing what I might say to get him to come back. Then, I'd approach him. Hey babe. Can we talk? I've noticed you've been a bit distant and I'm wondering if I've done something to upset you? If I did, can you please talk to me about it? He'd look at me blankly: everything is totally normal. As always, you're overthinking things.

Plausible deniability.

Sometimes he'd add: do you think you did something? You're an adult. I'm not here to hand-hold.

Sigh.

When he'd come back from his vacation... unexpectedly, with no previous indicator of his imminent return, I'd be so so so happy to have him back, I never asked any questions. I was all too happy to sweep things under the rug so that I could have peace and continue with our lives.

A true mind fuck.

These days, the ink on the divorce papers has dried, and he exhibits much less emotional restraint.

While the silent treatment is still his go-to strategy --he responds to say half of my messages?- the rest of his responses are nasty. Vitriol. Hateful. Filled with personal attacks. Unhinged.

A recent personal favorite: "I can tell you we all know who the devil is. And the devil is morally corrupt and a lost soul... Everything the devil says and touches is poisonous."

His hate is packaged so stealthily. Delivered by the face that only I know.

No one could imagine the texts & messages that he sends when no one is watching.

I've learned the hard way that others don't believe that face exists. As I've peeled back the layers of that long, painful relationship, I've started to come to terms with the manipulation and gaslighting. I recently confided in someone I thought was a good mutual friend about it all. Her reaction? "I'm sorry. There are two sides of the story and I don't believe he is that way."

Observing how he moves among others, I suppose I get it. I can see how it would be hard for them to believe me.

While I finally have clarity about the truth....

while I see the mind games....

I struggle with not being believed.

With sitting in the center of the room, after each one of his attacks, after every provocation disguised in calm, placating tones, as others look on... not seeing me... not hearing me.... not believing my truth.