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!

Advertisements

Night Terrors Day Terrors

My body betrays me and I live in constant fear of my own mind. It twists and turns thoughts, scenarios and demons crawl inside.

If there is a way to calm the crippling, it is not in a pill bottle. The green ones, the orange ones; they do nothing to suppress my angst.

Those around me cannot and do not understand my world. I’ve surrounded myself with vampires of the prettiest kind. Only my dogs save my desperate heart.

Please, peace from fear…

Words

All of the words, the work and the stress involved in remaining in this marriage are bullshit. He is never going to get well and I am never going to have the guts to end the insanity.

I’ve adopted two dogs, they are my CPR. They have breathed life back into this empty soul. 

My twin hounds are going to save me from this enormous anchor called my marriage.
Otherwise, I’ve got no more words to share with the abyss of this blog.

  

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.

  

My Confession: No Sleep

My Confession: No Sleep

It is nearly 8:00am and I have not slept. My mind refuses to allow any rest. 

The truth about being married to a man who will never be “whole” is that my burden is often overwhelming. While there have been months where I was able to relax – those days are in the past. 

A person with schitzoaffective disorder is sadly dependent. Luckily, my dear spouse found a woman bred to be a care-taker. 

Thank you Dad, I love you always, despite this cursed gift.

Illusions:  Inside and Out

Outwardly, he may appear to be in control, social and helpful. All the while the delusions rage inside of his mind. 

Outwardly, he may speak in impossibilities: conspiracies and secret tests done against his will. All the while the delusions have bloomed into madness.

There are days and nights where we laugh and talk for hours. He can be kind, understanding and the man I imagine to be a permanent gift.  I keep those memories in my mind’s vault for when the tides turn against me.

There are days and nights where he accuses me of ridiculous crimes of betrayal. His words are shards of glass that embed beneath my skin. I do my best to remember that it is his “illness” alas, his words are kept in another vault in my mind.

At 5:00pm

At 5:00pm he tumbles out of the bedroom. He has been awake on and off today, albeit mostly off

He chose to double one of his medicines last night because he had not drank alcohol in three days. There is a correlation somewhere but I don’t even begin to inquire.

My day and mood has been, best described as “manic anxiety“. Hours on the Internet, shopping, straightening the clean house…

Despite my prescribed Valium, I still have not slept since the night before last. This cannot continue tonight, my body is cold and shaking, weak from lack of rest yet fueled by the compulsion to “fix and finish everything“. 

I am such a good codependent! 

It’s a trait that others adore and I despise. 

Being the spouse of a man with a severe mental illness is never easy. I am forever waiting, anticipating and doing my best to enjoy what is tossed my way.

The Woman They Knew

The woman that they once knew has been gone for longer than anyone has noticed.  

As long as they are cared for, given proper attention and feel loved; the image of her does not have to match the reality.  

Ten thousand times the voices in her head are screaming her truth, but are silenced when they reach her bitter tongue.

Existing on a high wire of a magic and mirrors, desperate to be seen and discovered, far too many lean on her shattered shoulders.  

Dreaming of being held quietly and feeling safe are what keep her standing, when she can manage.

Someday there must be retribution or absolution.  

Arms that are strong enough to love her as she so deeply needs.  

Remembering the exact day: a Friday in October over six years ago, when she was hugged and felt real pure love.  

Since that day, heart in a million shards, she has never felt safe.

Lost, all those that were true and pure of heart.  

Angels waiting for her, watching her, a life of pain and loneliness.  

All around her, the woman they know is whomever they choose to see.  

Morphing when necessary.  

Still, knowing the desperation of being all alone in the world. 

A little girl, woman, waiting and wanting a fairytale for just “that hug” that will set her free of just some of the sadness. 

She smiles and listens to their veiled barbs and word attacks.

Nothing shakes her iron walls, quietly she weeps tears that nobody can possibly hear.

Songs fill the room of pain and empty words.

Eyes closed, heart broken and wishing the days away – the woman they know never existed.
  

Prey

The pack slowly descends upon its prey

Watching, waiting for any show of weakness

And they will attack

Yes,

There are members of the pack that use the prey to their advantage

They can only hold back the younger and more dominant, strong wolves for a short while longer

Eventually, descending upon the prey will morph into an attack

One against too many to count

The frightened animal’s own companion turns his face

A scream

He is one of them, those that devour and destroy