The Wasting Away

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For years I have been coming here to bleed. I have been sharing with you the wild and horrifying stories of my life and I have been honest, brutally so, about my abuse and my issues. I have been showing it all and not holding anything back. So today I will do the same as I always have. I will bleed for you.

I have a rare mental disorder with many complexities that I won’t get into today. I have talked about it in the past. Have sat down and talked in depth about DID and shown you the ways it has crippled me and helped me to rise. The full story has not been told. But I am working on that one.

The effects of the disorder are permanent and change with each patient. One of the ways it effects me is to make what I write more real to me than what I live. This makes my life wild, leaves my mind untethered, and often sets normal every day tasks as impossible or difficult. Today it is killing me.

I am working on my autobiography, so my past has become more vivid than my present. That comes with true horrors on every other day, but today it is a weight unbearable. Because I am telling the story of how, while fighting to hold on to my love with every ounce of power I had, I still saw our relationship crumbling in my hands. No matter what I did, it was wrong for everybody but her. No matter what I said, it was wrong to everyone else.

The truth is being shown to me in ways I have never seen before as the story is pieced together, and I am seeing horrible truths about things others did to try to break us.

I’m losing her again, don’t you see? I am losing her all over again. No matter how I fight, no matter what I do, she is slipping away.

Can you see the horror of it yet? Can you imagine the mystifying nightmare I am living? I’m losing her again and it is more real to me than my current life. But this disorder is wide and expansive and it is cruel today. It has been all week.

See, in my mind, she is slipping away and my body is reacting. I can’t touch her, because when my fingers graze her skin I feel nothing. I can’t kiss her, I can’t run my fingers through her hair, because when I do, I feel nothing. My mind is shutting her out. It is killing off every bit of feeling I have with her. All I have is the pain. All I have is the hideous feeling of loss and pain as I watch it all go away. All our dreams, all we loved, washing away and there is nothing I can do. Don’t you see there is nothing to do but fight through it?

I have to write our painful break up. I have to lose her all over again and then write her back to my arms. All the while, I have to do so without her touch, her kiss, or her caress.

And she has to watch it. She has to stand by knowing I am reliving the worst moments of my life while I fight tooth and nail for a woman I already possess. While I lose in a battle I have already won, she has to watch from afar, waiting for me to come to terms with the fact that we won long ago. This war is fought. I was the victor.

I have been up for twenty three hours. I am going to keep writing. I am going to punch my way through to the happiness so I can feel the skin of my wife again and let her feel how much I love her.

The last time I felt the embrace of my wife on my skin I had been up for thirty hours. I am exhausted, but after all this pain and loss, I can’t face another night without a kiss. Without an embrace.

So all I can do is write my way home to a woman I won years ago. Write my way free of our horrible past and the people who destroyed us. Write my way back to sanity.

And maybe, if I’m up until midnight, I can kiss my wife again and cry in her arms.

I can’t talk about this anymore. I have to write. I need to win this war again. I can’t live without her. This is so much worse than before.

2 thoughts on “The Wasting Away

  1. I understand this completely, we have written and rewritten our autobiography a million times over the last 5 years, parts keep adding their version of events and it rips the bandaid off over and over, challenging everything we thought we knew about ourselves, our perceptions and experiences. It all becomes nauseatingly surreal as we face our complicated truths and lose our perceptions of people that were close, question those that are still here and how we fit in to any of it.
    As we fade in and out of an exhausting reality that we can’t stop chasing there’s so much heartbreak and we watch us lose ourselves over and over again in different ways. Sometimes it feels like torture but we try to remember that we are healing, that we are safe and that the end has already been written so some day it will all be worth it.

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