That last post was muchos pathos, and this may not be any better; but I'm compelled to expand, if not clarify, some of those points.
Things are bad with MW. Very bad. Picture this: last night I'm in mud boots, chemical gloves, industrial strength face mask and liquid Clorox swamping out the guest bathroom because one of the worker's she'd hired to repair the fence had asked to come in and use the bathroom. Foolishly, I allowed it. Now she's yelling at me and demanding I use Clorox to disinfect everything - and I mean everything, even the doorknobs - that he might have touched.
And that wasn't even the worst. It only cost around $100 worth of cleaning supplies/safety equipment and a couple hours. We won't go into all the time and money spent "fixing" up the house under the loopy-eye of dementia.
Also, my new favorite past-time is to take a quiet moment and look at MW. Just watch her as she sits in front of the TV. Observe her hands spasm; her legs jerk. Her fingers twitch and her mouth contort.
And yet she has no awareness. None. Everyday is spent making "house" plans then applying for jobs - which she'll never get.
She bought a wig to look younger when she goes on interviews; certain that it's her age what's causing her to lose jobs. Jesus wept.
I go along with - no, in fact, I encourage this behavior. It sometimes keeps her from screaming hateful words at me.
I am such an ass.
***
However, what if....
If I sat her down and told her that she needs to stop, take a breath, and face facts: she has Huntington's Disease.
Shining light from God and glory on high - she realizes time is short and we'd better start making the most of it.
Or
Flames from hell rising to engulf us both - depression. Suicidal depression.
But
The reality? Reality....
I think she would block me out - I've seen her do it. Just ignore me. Walk away from it and carry on the way we're going. Then accuse me of trying to get her to take meds just to make my own life easier. Hate on me even more than she does now. If that's at all possible.
***
If I weren't around, would things be worse or better for MW?
Is the reason she can still, somewhat, get out of bed and face every day because I'm there to keep her between the ditches - even though she resents the hell out of me? I take the abuse because I'm doing good. Yes?
If I were gone, what would MW do? What could she do?
Live with her family? That would be hell. No hyperbole. I've seen it; it is hell. Constant screaming, hitting, and black, black hate.
Still.... That's her family. It's where she comes from; where she may belong. It's what she reverts to when nothing else seems familiar.
She's obviously not happy with me. Just because I can't fathom happiness in her family environment, doesn't mean she....
***
Interlude:
I'm drunk. At work. Again. Yes, I know I was supposed to be observing my 4th of July lent - but events conspired against me. Oddest thing - I was picking up a togo order for MW and the twerp of a millennial bartender (sorry, he wasn't a twerp. Actually seemed like a nice guy. Anyway) asked me to "try something". A shot glass of a Mojito blend he was working on. Well. Yeah.
Couldn't really taste the booze. It was all syrup and mint. Nevertheless, I'm drinking again.
***
Not much time left, and I want to make sure these points come across:
I'm an asshole unless I'm not.
Either way - asshole or not - it is likely that I'm better off dead.
So. What am I going to do about it?
Post script.
This low feeling.... how much of it is alcohol? Curious question. I was very miserable without the drink; but recall, looking forward to my next one was all that kept me going.
Now that I've had the "next one" and many ones after, what's the point?
The bottle takith away; the bottle givith. Or do I have that backwards?
I have to go home now. Goddamnit.
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