2017.03.31

It's been day-by-day for so long, I've grown inured to the sense of dread. Life as I know it will be ending soon; replaced with something much worse. 

And so what? After three plus years of waking up anxious and going to sleep sick, I'm just ready for it to be over. 

That said; I am sinking low these days. The flood of irrational behavior has turned our house into a swamp and I don't have the inclination or strength to keep bailing. Two days ago I'm banned from going upstairs because MW almost tripped over the dog; yesterday I'm told we're no longer allowed to use the garage door opener because MW almost backed into the door. The HD wall paper is back with a vengeance - there isn't an inch of the bathroom wall or fireplace mantle not covered with taped-up "reminder" notes.

MW complains incessantly; she gets angry at everything and anything. I'm routinely and vehemently chastised for things I've no part in or control over.

Sleep is difficult. Night-time anxieties strike and MW is in and out of bed for hours setting the world right.

And, of course, she worries about her health.

I have the power to end it. All I need to do, next time she asks if I think her muscle spasm could be HD, is say yes.

Like that; it's over.

Christ, I've come close. Over these past few months? So close.

Why haven't I? Why am I still standing here, useless, bucket dangling from my fingers while the water rises past my nose?

***

I'm ill. Hatred for MW's family has poisoned my mind; turned my soul black. I've had recurring dreams where I'm drinking again - the sensation so real, I wake up nauseous and wobbly. Feeling evil.

I justify "reverse gas-lighting" MW, especially when it is her own behavior I'm trying to normalize, but lately she's noticed my weight loss. There's nothing "reverse" about me telling her she's mistaken and that I've always been this size even though I'm swimming in my clothes and my pants fall right down without a belt.

The look of confusion and concern on her face only reaffirms my low opinion of myself.

Everything is a lie - and I can't pretend that it is all for her own good anymore.

2017.03.27

I'm so full of hatred and poison now, I'm amazed my exhalations don't drop birds from the sky; my footsteps scorch concrete and kill grass. For you see, hard times at Casa Muncie are on the upswing and there is no relief in sight. Indeed, the future holds an ironclad promise of  unavoidable confusion, depression, isolation, and hostility.

And now, into this lock-box of misery, steps one of MW's unbelievable relatives bringing yet even more anger in each wicked hand.

I'll take this much culpability - I did answer the phone when he called. Normally I divert or hang up on any of MW's relatives, but I'd been caught off-guard. MW had been working the phone that day, trying to get things "organized" for a day-trip she wanted to make. Ten hours on the road for a two hour stay at an expensive hotel in Dallas because.... Well, just because. And when we travel, we're not allowed to use public restrooms or eat at restaurants. All food for the day must be prepped and packed before leaving. We can use the bathroom at the hotel - that's why we're renting the room at $300 for a couple of hours - but we can't sit on the bed and/or chairs without first covering them. So we had to hit the stores for cheap sheets and other items (flip-flops because we can't step on the carpets) necessary to make this trip a success. And while I was gathering supplies, MW was busy making reservations and such.

Anyway, when my cell phone rang and the caller ID read "Private", I should have just diverted and told MW that it was a wrong number/spam. Stupidly, I answered.

It was one of her out-of-town cousins. From her mother's side. Who should know better.

Surprise! He had a stop-over in our city and wanted to see us. Unfortunately MW was right there in front of me so I couldn't brush him off without alerting her. With no other option, I put him on hold and told her who it was and what he wanted.

She panicked. She told me to tell him that we couldn't do anything because.... We were having diner with friends.

Which I did. Then he started complaining about how he never comes to our city and he only wanted to meet us for an hour and we would still have time to meet our friends. I didn't relay any of this, of course, I just smiled and said into the phone "Okay, thanks for calling. Good to hear from you!"

Then hung up with my heart pumping black, poisonous blood.

That fucking cunt! Throw guilt on us? When he goddamned knows his cousin is at risk for HD? Okay, the layperson gets a pass - but he, he himself, hisowndamnedself, his highness personally - comes from an HD family. The coin dropped favorably for him and his - God bless and keep them - but not only is he as close to the disease as you can get, he's also a goddamned doctor of psychiatry! And he knows his cousin is almost 50; he knows she's been having "issues"....

Absolutely incredible, the way these fucking people act.

But it gets better.

Later that day, we've run most of the errands in preparation for the Big Trip and MW decides to lay down for a nap. No sooner has her head hit the pillow then there comes a knocking at our door.

Her cousin. Unannounced, uninvited, even after I've told him we wouldn't be home... There he is on our doorstep, banging away.

MW flies into a panic. She's runs towards me, saying in a "stage whisper" to be quite so we can pretend we're not at home.

Of course her whisper is just a notch below a normal person's shout. The cousin hears her and commands that she "Open the door!"

And I would have too; if I owned a gun.

But I don't. So we stay away from the door, huddling in silence until he leaves.

Very rarely have I ever been literally sick with rage, but this certainly qualified. I was shaking, quivery, nauseous. I wanted so desperately to run after that fuckwad and tear his cunting head off.

How dare he?

I mean, really. How fucking dare...

The thing is - we need so much help. Jesus, do we ever. And family is everything, right?

Right.

Assuming I don't die first; I will not have those motherfuckers at MW's funeral.

I cannot think about this situation without my vision going blurry and my teeth grinding. I hate them so utterly and completely. I'm filled with venom. It bows my back and hurts my guts.

And I really need to be feeling like this now.

***

As I said; times are hard. MW's irrational behavior - of which I've become expert at managing - has lately been coupled with vehement anger. When she topples her bottle, it is my fault for filling it too high; if the dog barks, I should have trained him better; and when I try to clean up around the house...? I can't do anything right.

Of course the reason I don't do anything right is because I don't care enough about her.

This is what I hear constantly. This is what I hear after I work twelve hours, come home and spend the next four hours cooking, cleaning, and generally taking care of MW.

The other day she yelled at me for breathing too loud while she was trying to watch TV.

Yeah, okay. That ain't her; it's the disease.

So I'm HD's bitch. I get it. And I deal with it, mostly, but I get so tired.

***

I make it through the day's like an emotionless automaton. When MW rages against me, I stand and take it. I let it storm; my thoughts to the sink full of dishes or the food that needs to be cooked for tomorrow and how much longer until I can get those chores done. How many hours of sleep will I get? Four? That would be good....

But lately it has dawned on me: once MW is no longer able to equivocate her condition; once she's been fired from her job or can no longer control her physical movements; then she will turn against me with a scorching hatred the likes of which I'm not sure I can withstand.

She will blame me - rightfully so - for hiding the condition from her.

She will accuse me of not caring enough to tell her she has the disease.

I will have no response; no defense. Yes, I have been lying to her for years. And it won't matter that she has told me she'd rather not know.... It won't matter that she even asked me not to tell her if I thought she had it.

When she can no longer avoid the truth; she'll know I've betrayed her.

That's not going to end well.