Evolution

Dear Hearts,

T. haunts me still. And I see the evolution of how I got here—wherever that is.

I will be doing something simple like playing with my phone and I’ll remember how angry that made T. sometimes. How at the end I was asking permission to use my phone. At the end I also had it password protected for the first time ever.

“I’m gonna throw that fucking Kindle out the window.”

He didn’t like me playing a dragon game on my Kindle. Or when we were talking about something and I pulled out my phone to look something up, I’d get in trouble. Asshole did the same thing. How the fuck did I not see those flags with T.?

I did. I just denied them.

Yes, my marriage was abusive. And, I just had a break down after all was said and done in 2014. Then I went into the nuthouse. The beginning of the end was 2012 when I was hospitalized for UC. But, when I checked into the nuthouse—that was the tipping point.

I couldn’t kick the depression or the desire to die. I had several plus episodes a day I am told between going into the nuthouse and getting ECT. I don’t really remember. ECT took about over a year and a half of my memory when I started getting it in 2014.

ECT also took me. Yeah, I wasn’t shaking. No, I didn’t want to kill myself. But, I was acting cognitively impaired in a different way. I’ll never know what really occurred early in T. and my relationship—if the things he told me were true, because I don’t remember and he lied every single fucking day.

So, I met him and “fell in love.” Then I OD’ed. I could not get my legs under me after that. So I grabbed the nearest piece of floating wood in the ocean, T.

I see it now. These episodes. The anxiety. The inability to feel comfortable in my own skin. The panic attacks. The guilt. The constant mind spinning. It’s all a result of my breakdown. And break down I did.

Only now am do I have any chance of getting better. Only now do I see with some clarity the devastation of the last four years.

But, I don’t feel hopeful about it. I can’t even see a future.

I drew today. I finished my first coloring page. It’s stupid and bad. But, I did it.

I visited Gram at the graveyard and then had a two-hour low-level, functional episode.

I worry about everything. I fear everything. I feel guilty for so much.

I just want to go away. Be somebody else. But, I don’t know whom.

Will I ever really live? Have I ever really lived?

**********

G-Pa and I were talking about Dr. Swede.

“He’s so brave the way he gets around.”

“Yeah, he is, but so are you.”

“No.”

“Yes. You lost your wife four years ago. You lost Gram. I miss her every day.”

Pause.

“After Gram we weren’t sure how long we’d have you. But we are glad we do every single day. Everyone who knows you say you are an amazing man.”

I wish I had a bit of that courage.

**********

I privileged enough to live a piece of history with G-Pa Wednesday night.

He has been a Cubs’ fan since he was a kid. He used to pick up Al Capone whiskey bottles under the stands after the game in the 1920s. He lived three blocks from Wrigley’s field and would sneak in the side entrance.

I don’t give a shit about baseball and I now know I don’t know shit about even the basic rules of the game.

But, at the bottom of the ninth inning, I joined G-Pa to watch the Cubs go into a 10^th inning and win The 2016 World Series with one great catch.

That was a real gift.

Thank you, God.

**********

I know I am so Blessed. I just wish I could feel something other than sorrow, fear terror, ambivalence, or indifference.

And I feel so fucking guilty for not enjoying the incredibly miraculous Blessings and Grace God gives me.

Like, I know that I have experiences that I should enjoy, but there is a veil—a scrim between me and the great experience.

I want a lot of nicotine tonight. And pie.

Smoke ‘em if ya’ got ‘em. God Bless

In the name of The Father, Son, and Holy Spirit; Mother Mary, Saint Brigid; Saint Jude; Saint Therese Lisieux; Saint Peter; Archangel Michael, and my Guardian Angel, Jed.

PS: To the two ladies walking for exercise around the graveyard today—yeah, I was sitting in my car smoking. You wanna make somethin’ of it? You wanna go? ‘Cuz we can. Jersey style.

PS: Are forgiveness and wanting to aerate T. with an ice-pick mutually exclusive?

PPS: Mr. Tambourine Man? This is not what I meant at all.