Wasted Wishes 

Wasted wishes fall on deaf ears, there is nothing that can be done about his demons and I am hostage. 

Wasted wishes keep me awake at night and fill my growing body with unnecessary calories. Feed a broken soul.

Wasted wishes leave me alone with the exception of my loving dogs and I thank heaven for their love.

Wasted wishes are anxiety, panic and fear. 

Wasted wishes are life wasted.

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Safety, I Scream

Each night the demons return, they scream and grip at my throat

Daylight, they hide in my head and heart. My body has become their cocoon.

I’ve done nothing so terrible to deserve this existence 

Spending each day repenting for sins others have committed leaves me exhausted

Bottles of different colored remedies do little for they cannot control my external life. 

Safety, I scream!

Is this what Almost Over feels like?

He comes over and I chatter away nonstop 

He makes himself comfortable and the dogs greet him with a luxury of kisses

I suggest dinner and a movie, as we had planned but he says that he is not hungry but that I should order

He mentions money, that he needs to watch his – I do not need to watch mine. I attempt to diffuse any concern but can hear the wind steal my words.

He smokes in the bathroom, the “allowed spot” as it is raining outside. He spends too much time up and down between the sofa and the bathroom.

We have good conversation. Meaningful positive talk about family and emotions but remain distant. 

Distant both physically and emotionally.

I order in dinner and he spoons out some peanut butter. The dogs begin to eat and I believe that things are calm.

Before my food can arrive he requests that I call an Uber car for him to go back to his parent’s house. 

I ask that he please wait for my food to arrive, that he need not sit with me, and he begrudgedly agrees.

I smile and order his car, pretending that there is no problem. 

He tells me:

• that he is worried about his father’s health.

• that he is worried about his health

• that he is afraid that if he stays any longer he will screw things up

Then he tells me how he’s certain that I will hold this against him later; I smile (holding back my true feelings) and tell him that everything is fine.

I wonder what he thinks…

Are we married for convenience? 

A failsafe for when his parents pass away? 

Does he even feel anything romantic towards me? 

Is this what ALMOST OVER feels like? 

When neither of us has the nerve to say: “Let’s be best friends?“.

I Can’t Sleep

It’s the deep middle of the night and my mind is at full speed despite all of the medication. 

Do I take more little pills, feed the problem or suffer, unable to keep the wheels still? 

On the sofa with my dogs, my bed is not a comfort, the television is white noise. 

Questions pour from my brain that have no answers. My monsters and demons taunt me at nearly 5:00am. 

I haven’t the concentration to read, or connect to anything other than my spinning thoughts. 

I can’t sleep, cursing the coming dawn.

My Confession: the Paranoia

My Confession, the Paranoia
Schizoaffective disorder is accompanied by the gift the never ends: paranoia. It is with him at all times, sometimes just a small buzzing and other times a loud siren. Today the siren is low but very present. 
At lunch he proclaimed; “if anything happens to me, you have to sue the hospital, my doctor and my dentist“. When I asked the obvious question: “what am I suing for?” – he was frustrated and retorted “you know“.  
I do not know.
 

My Confession: the Shadow

My Confession, the Shadow

While he is awake, I am NEVER alone. 

He stands behind me while I am on the computer. Calls out my name when I am in the bathroom, as though there are so many places that I could be hiding.  

Worst of all, he comes up behind me constantly, peering over my shoulder – watching.  

Perhaps all of this “attention” would not be so painfully annoying except for the fact that he’s constantly shooting little arrows.  He claims that they are all benign but I deem them to be rather venomous.

It’s maddening!

Lack of Trust, a Symptom

The reality is that his constant attention is a symptom of his illness: schitzoaffective disorder.  

He is paranoid – very. Untrusting.

There is a persistent lack of trust. He does not or can not trust me (or almost anybody with the exception of his mother) even though his fears are without merit.  

It is an uncomfortable feeling: being married to and living with a man that does nottrust you” more often than not. In fact, the writing that I do is in secret.  I could never attempt a novel or short story because of the limited time I have to be alone and create. 

Most of my writing is done in stolen moments or while he is asleep.  

Perspective, my Attempt & Art

It must be terrible to live in fear. Never trusting those close to you because of a delusion that is your truth.  

Keeping that perspective has become what allows me to remain. 

• Forever, or so it appears, we will live in his world of sickness.  

• Forever, or so it appears, I will walk on eggshells and have the hollow feeling that comes with loneliness.  

Perspective was originally taught to me in college; illustration and drawing classes. How I enjoyed evolving from simple train tracks to abstract art.  

It is no different with the perspective necessary to live trapped within somebody else’s nightmare.  You begin with the basic skills necessary and, over time, you learn how to see it as art

Was it Andy Warhol who said, “Life is Art“? Maybe not.

My tolerance for the “shadowing” is an art in patience.  The strength that it takes to live so alone: art. Some of the most talented artists of the modern era create hideous but highly acclaimed art.

Introspection

Looking past all that is happening, whether real or not:

I’ve become the Shadow of myself.