This is a sober, first-hand account of a woman’s journey of discovery about the unexpected cause of her sexual dreams.|
Although it would be rash to suggest her experience definitely applies to you, what makes her astonishing discoveries worthy of serious consideration is that in my counseling I have encountered other people whose experiences with sex dreams and/or fantasies have been almost identical.
For as long as I could remember I had a ‘friend’ who showed up in my dreams. He was a tall, blonde, blue eyed, muscular man. I enjoyed those dreams because they were full of sex. I would wake up on the cusp of an orgasm and the slightest move would push me over.
Eventually, I learned to control these dreams. I discovered I could make this man look like anything I wanted – even a woman or a dog. All I had to do was ask. Then it hit me: if things changed because I asked him it meant I could talk to him and he would respond. I experimented and soon learned that he and I could talk about anything in my dreams. My life was full of abuse and he was the only one that would listen to me.
One day, he appeared outside of a dream in the real world. He took my hand and showed me how to masturbate. He enjoyed watching me and I didn’t mind giving him the show. The only cloud was that it was a sin. I was so desperately lonely and felt so worthless, however, that I pushed that concern aside and continued with my ‘friend’.
The more time I spent with him, the closer I got to real trouble. I stumbled onto porn at my uncle’s house and my friend’ encouraged me to watch more of it. My window faced the road and he encouraged me to give our neighbors a show. They hooted and hollered. He encouraged me to stare in fascination at children’s genitals. I’d drive around naked and wave at people. Masturbating at work and with other people’s things became another way to get a high. At age 26 I was a nanny for three different families. One of them caught me masturbating while their daughter napped. I was immediately fired and that family told my other two families and they fired me as well.
That shocked me enough to realize the depths of my sin and sent me on a search to deepen my relationship with God. I drew near to God and, knowing that my sexual activity did not please God, I made every effort to break my sex addiction. I threw myself headlong into a Christ-based 12 step recovery program but, try as I may, to my crushing disappointment and frustration, I kept falling. I almost drowned in guilt and shame.
My ‘dream friends’ kept giving me dreams that left me with strong sexual cravings. Then, throughout the day, my ‘friends’ appeared to me and attempted to seduce me. I cried out to God but I continued to fall.
I tried looking in my past to find anything that would account for this. I thought that if I could find some source of pain I could bring it to God and he would heal it. But no matter how hard I tried, nothing came to mind.
Despite learning much about receiving God’s forgiveness and forgiving others, I continued to languish in defeat. The guilt was unbearable at times and God’s only response was, “Keep trying and repenting. My grace is sufficient for you here.” I grew to hate those words: I craved not just grace but victory. I had no idea that throughout this ordeal God was working on making me strong enough to cope with what I would eventually learn about myself.
Then, eleven years later, I started having nightmares. I didn’t even know the content of the dreams because I couldn’t remember them upon waking but the feelings they caused stuck with me throughout the day. I dreaded going to sleep. I pleaded with Jesus, “Tell me what the dreams are about or take them away. Either way is fine with me. I just want to sleep.”
Jesus chose to tell me, but he did so in an unusual manner. One day, I became aware of another presence in my mind. It was a six year old girl. Terrified for my sanity, I asked Jesus about it. “She’s a little girl,” he said. Treat her like it.”
As I talked to this six-year-old over the next few days I started remembering rapes and being molested. Once again, I feared for my sanity. So I talked to Jesus. “Find a therapist,” he said.
The therapist diagnosed me with Dissociative Identity Disorder. Apparently, I had suffered significant trauma as a child and, in order to cope, my personhood had split into different ‘people’. Each one held back certain traumatic events from my conscious memory so that I could function in this world.
The notion of having different ‘people’ inside me was so overwhelming that I kept being tempted to think it must be just an overactive imagination. Nevertheless, more and more parts revealed themselves to me and shared the traumatic memories they had kept from me. I learned that as a child I had suffered satanic ritual abuse by the pastor of our church. This same man was also the principal of my school. He enforced a hierarchy, with men at the top followed by boys, then women and last of all girls. The rules were:
1. Never look your superior in the eye
2. Never speak unless you are spoken to
3. Obey your superiors without question.
Being a little girl, I was the lowest of scum. I endured beatings and found myself used as the sex toy of any man or woman or boy. I was called names, spat on, beaten and raped. I felt utterly powerless and without hope.
As memories slowly returned I learned that, though still a girl, I was eventually offered the chance to be treated as a woman. In desperation I accepted this opportunity, thinking it would be a way out of my misery. Then they brought a girl to me. She made eye contact with me, thus breaking one of the rules, since I was now a ‘woman’. My abuser required me to beat the girl for her insolence. Not wanting to do so, I lightly slapped her on the cheek hoping this would mollify my abuser. It didn’t. He pushed me mercilessly until I was afraid for my life. I felt absolutely trapped. I didn’t want to beat this girl but I didn’t want to die either.
It was then that I met my first special ‘friend’. He called himself Jonesy. He came into my body and used it to beat the girl. I felt awful for the little girl but at least I had not been the one to beat her and I was still alive. Jonesy came back any time I needed to beat someone. Eventually we became friends. He told me about how sorry he was that I was going through all of this and that he was glad to be able to help me out. He said he loved me and he’d never want to harm me.
I told him how scared I was of my abuser. I found safety in him. Over time, he began making small sexual advances. None of them were forced on me. They were gentle and couched in loving terms. I loved Jonesy and wanted to make everything in his life happy. So I accepted all of his advances. He protected me from the beating I have would received if I had refused to obey my abuser and in return I had sex with him.
I kept my relationship with Jonesy a secret. I was terrified that someone would take him away from me, leaving me friendless and in danger of losing my life. He was my lifeline and only source of comfort.
Later, another demon was intentionally given to me by my abusers. He was much smaller than Jonesy and called himself Albert. He was different from Jonesy. Albert reveled in beating other people and in forcing others to service me.
Between these two ‘friends’ I had everything I needed to cope with the abuse dealt to me day in and day out. Jonesy satisfied my craving for comfort. Albert kept me alive by doing what I was too afraid to do. For those times when everything felt bad, they gave me the high that sex produces.
As I processed my way through these astonishing memories, I stumbled upon who my ‘dream friend’ was. Jonesy fitted my ‘dream friend’ to a tee! I was shocked. I had been having sex with a demon! I asked Jesus what to do. He said there was a part of me that was still attached to Jonesy and until she willingly left him I would continue to suffer at Jonesy’s hands.
So the battle began. For days, this part of me debased herself with Jonesy and Albert right in front of me. They begged me to join in and they kept my body sexually aroused constantly. In time, Jonesy stopped asking and started demanding that this part gratify his sexual desires. Then they put her in chains and spewed baseless and sometimes outlandish threats.
All I could do was tell this part to run to Jesus. Doing so was not as easy as it might seem, however. A feature of the satanic abuse I had suffered was that a man had regularly dressed up as Jesus, claimed to be him, and sexually tortured this part of me. This fake Jesus had made her terrified of the real Jesus. She begged for there to be some other way to be freed from demons than having to go to Jesus. But there was none.
“I cannot save you without your cooperation,” Jesus told her. “If I did, you would forever question my judgement of Jonesy. You must come to me.” One day, she finally did, and Jesus stepped in to defend her but, to my surprise, he did not send the demons away. I questioned him about this and he replied, “My daughter is under my protection yet her heart cannot be mine until she rejects them and sends them away.”
She wrestled with guilt and was afraid that Jesus would reject her because of her past sins and she knew that if that happened she would have no choice but to return to the demons. Eventually she realized that holding onto guilt by regarding herself as unforgivable was the same as siding with demons. So, with a gentle steel in her bones, she commanded Jonesy to leave. On that day she broke all ties with Jonesy. Like never before, this breakthrough has empowered me to be victorious over even the strongest sexual temptation.
When Imaginary Friends Turned Out to be Demons Another woman’s very similar experience, this time involving fantasy rather than dreams.
Christian Help with Sexual Dreamsby