I want to rip out my brain or kill myself or …well what do you do when he strokes your face and says, Babe, what has come between us? He has no idea what is coming down. To him, maybe?, it is just him and me and us, which has defined both our lives for 3 decades.
I just want to die. It hurts too much. He suffers, but forgets, and babbles the same words – when they are words – over and over and over and over…. (Oh you, dear reader, find that boring, hey, or overdone – ha!) but I just can’t stand it. It is appalling.
Nothing will ever make this good – it is a hole in my soul which will never heal. Yes one day if I survive this pain, I may walk around again among the living and laugh and smile but I will never again be whole. There will always be a tear inside my soul, my heart, my gut, I will always be walking wounded. And to me right now getting to that state would be a victory, a healing.
I suspect when I think about it that many of us are walking wounded – how can it be otherwise with the terrors of this world. You die, or you survive, walk, or crawl away, wounded. And most of us I am guessing cover it up, let the wounds scab over and scar, and carry on.
Why go through it I don’t actually know.
He wants to know, in this brief painful moment while he is not moaning about wanting to go home, sweet mother, to that imaginary home which vanished when his father died 40 years ago or more, he wants to know why I am going away from him. And I have no answer, only pain. I cannot cry because that will only upset him.
The caregivers tell me he answered the phone into the door handle in the office while I was away and later, held his glass up to the kitchen cupboard door to get water.
And I have no answer for what is tearing us apart.