Monday, January 23, 2012

Blind fish

I have been talking about anger a lot in these journal entries. It is the largest single topic, I think, of all the vagaries of this dark journey. Now I wonder if maybe I am not stuck on one of those 'stages of grief' plateaus. I know anger is easier for me than grief. I would much rather fight and try, than give in to the deep well of sadness that lurks below our mental feet, like a vast underground pool housing those fish that are born without eyes, as there is no light in their world. There is little light in our world at the moment. It takes monumental effort to ferret out some small joyful thing, to celebrate any kind of positive action. Every single thing I try and do with him brings the fear and anxiety response. Every single positive behavior is matched by his relentless, debilitating darkness. The problem is that I can't let this negative energy wash over and beyond me. It goes right through me and on the way, sucks a little more of the light from my soul, leaving me less than I was and more and more depressed. It also makes me mad that it's happening and that I can't seem to get a handle on it. Maybe part of the problem is that it's changing fast, too fast to learn new coping skills certainly, in order to keep up. In any case, the rage continues unabated. I would like to know when I can look forward to at least the 'bargaining' stage, if not acceptance. I really need to treat him as I would a child. I mean, I need to drop all expectations of behavior so that I am not continually slapped in the face with the reality of it all, and not newly enraged over our circumstance.

He spent the day yesterday trying to cut, bend, or fold a cardboard box destined for the recycle bin. I spent the day trying to be supportive and non judgmental...supplying only a gentle reminder or finding a tool, or making indirect suggestions. I was benign, neutral, mildly friendly, and trying desperately not to take over or literally take it from his hands. I wanted him to have something to do that would appear to be of help (I didn't care if the box made it to the bin). His response to my NOT taking it over was to assume I was mad at him! As the day progressed, his responses got more and more agitated, until he yelled at me that he felt as if he were going to vomit and why was I so mad at him to be making him do this.

I am totally confused by this disease. How do we plan or develop coping skills for dealing with a gradual loss of someone's mind? I am not as well equipped as the blind fish. I am used to light in my world and am having great trouble finding my way.

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