2018.03.23

Sleep has been an on-going issue, but it's getting near critical. MW just cannot stay in bed when the moon is high. Right around midnight is when she'll start getting antsy about things, and tear about the house like the Tasmanian devil - demanding all sorts of adjustments: the bed-sheets must be changed, the nightlights turned off (then on again; then off, etc.), and dozens of sheets of paper taped upon the wall or on the car to remind us of things to be done in the morning.

And what's worse than getting by on meager rest, is the fact that if only I were a little bit clever or brave, I could stop - or at least mitigate - this behavior.

See for some odd reason, Huntington's Disease lowers the body's melatonin, a hormone responsible for setting our sleep cycles. So when I'm ready to crash after an exhausting 20 hour day, MW is hearing the rooster crow in her head. And away we go!

Now then: melatonin supplements are cheap and easily accessible. If only I could find a way to convince MW to take them without bringing up HD...? Seems like a simple solution - casually mention that doctors say melatonin is really, really good for you - she should start taking some. Ah, but MW would never go for that. She doesn't trust ANY pharmaceuticals. Yes, I hear you. Melatonin supplements are not drugs - I know, I know - but that wouldn't matter to MW. She still wouldn't take them based on my recommendation alone. I'm the one who tried to poison her water, remember?

I keep hoping one of the talk show hosts she follows will do a commercial for it. Hell, that's why she takes calcium magnesium - thank you, Dr. Oz!

Or there's this: I could sneak some into her food. OOOORRRR - replace those Cal Mag capsules with Melatonin? Worth a try.

So deceitful. For her own good, but Goddamn.... So wrong.

***

Depression's won. Mentally, I don't even fight it anymore. I've been spinning, looking for an exit from this crazy place for so long now, my legs have gone out. I am flat on my ass.

If I want an exit; I have to make it myself. I know this.

It seems now, however, body has joined mind and they both want me to start drawing up a blueprint for the exit door.

I've read where people described their nervous breakdowns, but it always seemed like bad fiction. Words like "crushing" and "crippling" being bandied about. Stop being so dramatic; it ain't a car-crash; it's just depression.

Well then; twice within the past week I've been left immobile - slack-jawed with tears of pain brimming over - just because of depression.

Quite literally, it felt like a giant fist had clenched around my body and squeezed. My spine contracted; my ribs pulled together. I could only draw in weak breaths.

I was being crushed; too crippled to move.

Such a fucking drama queen!

The prompts for these events aren't worth revisiting; but they were both based on MW's behavior. HDDQ! And I had no endurance left. None. The next hate-filled, rage-fueled, profane and destructive word spat at me from MW's snarled mouth would be the last. I was done. Mentally, done.

And my body tried very, very hard to make that happen physically as well.

I need an exit.

2018.03.05

Huntington's Disease: The reason God invented murder/suicide.

Superimposed over the image of a CAG repeat chart.... I bet that'll sell some T-shirts!

Yeah, I guess you could say it's been a rough few weeks. MW has started insisting I stay home from work to "help" her while she treats the fungal infection on her feet - which has, apparently, now spread to her hands(?).

So I get to stay home and be a full-time honest to goodness caregiver. Visiting angel; that's me. Just ignore the horns.

Mary Mary quite contrary
What makes your horns grow?

First and foremost, I gain Satanic stature by propagating and maintaining the lie. MW does not have Huntington's Disease. Uh huh. And how exactly does this work?

I help her apply for dozens - hundreds - of jobs, but every time she fails a face to face interview? Well, that's because MW is over-qualified, or they already know who they're going to hire but have to go through the steps for legality sake, or (and this is rapidly becoming my favorite) everybody is racists.

Also, MW loves to make big plans. Travel plans. Home improvement plans. Even just diner with friends plans. Great, I say.

You plan it, I say, and I'll show up.

Ha!

The plans inevitably spiral away into the realm of the attainability bizarre and nothing gets done.

But that's not my problem. I absolve myself from any responsibility. "Whatever you want to do; just let me know, and we'll do it."

I say that twenty times a day and nothing ever gets done.

Fine by me.

What a fucking asshole, right? Yup. But check it: the only way to actually get things done would be to override MW's nascent dementia. And the only possible (not certain, only possible) way to do that would be to address the issue.

Tell her she's sick.

End her, basically. Drop her in that hole.

Or, maybe, if she were more aware of her circumstances, she would allow me to make those plans; see those friends; do the important things.

Before it's too late.

Rolls reversed; that's what I'd want.

Of course, rolls reversed, I'd've killed myself three years ago. Maybe five.

And let us not forget the last, but certainly not least, reason why my demonic horns have grown so huge and intractable: MW routinely berates, curses, belittles, yells-at, accuses, and insults me.

Whatever. I take it.

But, goddamn, it makes me feel like a monster.

***

The other day MW knocked me down. I guess she was trying to be playful (?), but when she pushed me, I went sprawling. This speaks to the freakish strength the chorea has bestowed. I'm a big guy. MW isn't all that much. But when she "accidentally" bumps into me, I'm scooping myself up from the floor.

More fun and games with HD.