I don't wake my husband

Because I never know who he will be if he is roused too quickly. My husband Grant has a rare disorder: when wakened from sound sleep, any one of the multiple personalities who can show up will be in charge - and it is always a full-blown scenario that the personality is experiencing at that moment. He could be bull-fighting in Spain, dancing in a waltz contest in Germany, or sniping enemy combatants in a jungle somewhere.He could also be a tiny, scared little girl on her way to the dentist.It is always best to just let him wake up slowly on his own.I used to write down a name if I could get one from him and a description of the personality each time one woke up, but I stopped after 40-some personalities. The personalities never showed up a second time. No repeats. Then one day, he woke up one day speaking a language I couldn't understand. I recorded some of it. He was super agitated, talking a mile a minute and waving his arms all around, glaring at me like I needed to do something. It took over an hour for him to get back to himself.When he is himself, he has zero memory of what just happened. He doesn't know who these personalities are. He's just an uncomplicated, good-hearted guy - no fancy family background, no time abroad, no weird friends. He's a cook at Waffle House, working at the same job for 8 years. He goes to work, and leaves the job at the door when he gets home. He likes a couple beers in the evening. He watches baseball if one of his teams is playing. He is helpful and cheerful most of the time. One night a month is boys' night, and he goes to a friend's house to meet up with another 4-5 guys. As far as I can tell, Grant isn't a spy - and neither are any of his friends. They are just a bunch of regular guys. On weekends, we do chores during the day and at night pop popcorn for movie night - which is Netflix on the couch.But I can't sleep in the same bed with him. Not after something startled him awake one night last week, and he hit me. He yelled, "That son of a bitch has a gun!" and then punched me with his fist full force in the gut. I managed to roll out of the way from the second punch, and rolled out of bed ending up in a heap on the floor. Grant stood on the bed and looked down at me. All I could think of was a jaguar leaping out of a tree on its prey. Before he could jump on me, I rolled under the bed, shoving things out of the way. I found a long box of Christmas wrap and some boxes of ornaments. Quickly, I pushed them around me and in front even while I heard Grant's feet hit the floor. Then I heard Grant's voice mumbling, "What in the hell is that?" I tried to peek at him, but I couldn't see over those boxes. After a few moments, I heard him sit on the edge of the bed, muttering too low for me to understand. Eventually, the bed creaked as he lay back down. I didn't come out from under the bed until I heard him snore. I counted under my breath to 10, and crawled out on my side of the bed, pushing those boxes away.I had no doubt that whoever Grant was that night, he would have beaten me to death.The next day I set up my own bedroom. It was one of the saddest days of my life. Grant stood in the doorway. He didn't cry. That was actually worse. If he cried, I could comfort him. But he didn't cry."So that's it?" he asked. "Just like that?"I walked over to kiss him, but he turned his face from me."I don't get it. You can't move out of our room and still love me.""But I do. I love you, and I will always love you. That hasn't changed, and it never will.""Tell me again why you are moving out of our bedroom.""I keep waking you up. You don't remember it, but it keeps happening. It makes me feel bad. I don't want you to have trouble at work because I woke you up so much the night before."He stood there looking at me for the longest time."And so... Where do we have sex? - - We are still having sex, right?""Anywhere you want. Any time you want."Looking as if he didn't believe me, he asked, "How about here and now?"I took off all my clothes. My bed was just an old twin-size mattress on the floor. I hadn't even gotten sheets for it yet. Then I got on my bed and held out my arms to him.He was so gentle, as if he kept expecting me to stop him. I held onto him and cried part of the time, trying to keep my tears from him. I would have lied and told him they were happy tears, happy that he still loved me. They were sad tears because I had hurt him.He didn't fall asleep in my bed afterwards. He got off the mattress and picked up his clothes. I heard him walk into our bedroom, which was now just his. For a moment, I thought I heard an odd sound. Was it a sigh? A sniff? I couldn't tell what it was.After he started to snore, I got off my mattress and put the deadbolt on the inside of my door.