Into the Light

I wondered if there would ever be peace. People joke that you have peace when you're dead. Maybe so. Leaving the house was against the rules between 1 and 1:15pm, on option expiration days. Maybe this time he would not notice. "I told you I am losing money and cannot be distracted, so here you are again. Why can't you stay out if my way?" I meekly replied, "I have a doctor's appointment and must walk the dogs before leaving." "You're an asshole." At what point did I give up my self worth to be with a man who had nothing nice to say or do? I was just as disgusted with myself as I was with him. Perhaps he is a reflection of my own self-loathing? Who is shouted and cursed at for merely traversing the living room? What did I do to deserve living in this predicament with this cruel person I hardly recognize?

For 16 years an affair that began with passion, love, shared mutual interests and lively discussions has turned into a sordid power struggle between suffering souls, as we both deal with our respective grave illnesses. Whomever glamorized growing old together was delusional. This is a nightmare. Sometimes I just wished I were dead, as my life is only a series of doctors appointments in which I am told there is nothing they can do for me except tell me I will be in pain and should weather through it, or be on pain pills. The next 25 years seems nothing but a protracted hospice with no medical relief stuck with a blathering ogre who deserves to be alone, but I am trapped. Without me, he would have no outlet. Yet, he does not deserve one. Without him I would have no one, so we soldier on in our dysfunction, hoping to snatch a few good moments between the agony like pieces of bruised shriveled fruit, just beginning to turn.

He used to threaten letting my dogs loose in traffic, so I would not leave the house. Now it's just yelling and cursing. A vast improvement for which I supposedly should be relieved, and conveniently drives me out the door. Survival is seeing peace in the future at some point. I wish he would mellow, but apparently that's not in the cards. A twisted old man, with an abusive agenda, a ticking time bomb of nastiness. When he insults me he sprays spittle in my face while pointing, yet I hear no words, nor feel the sharp finger, just frequent inner urges to get away as quickly as possible.

I am lucky I have two children who are success stories in their own right, but who do not come over to our house of horrors. I am alone. I choose to live for them and my pets. At tough times, I can allow myself to believe my sole purpose, is just to cheer my kids on and love my pets. I rationalize that it's ok to invest my entire reason for being in them, the culmination of years of nurturing, school functions, birthday parties, and gatherings with neighborhood folks. That phase of life is long gone after police have been summoned to our home due to all the shoving and shouting, as we are labeled neighborhood pariahs. One next door busy body told me to go to a homeless shelter. I must draw from those full, flowery days of kids and fun, even when I am called a "squatter" to the police as if that absolves him. He lies about my motives, that I want to injure him, when that is ridiculous. When will this be over? Do I dare wish it?

I am the mom version of Walter Mitty, choosing to tune out the chatter and focus on the positive like some corny Yoga Instructor. In fact when my health was at it's worst, I became a Yoga Instructor, but had to quit after being hit by a car. Typhoid Mary comes to mind with the run of bad luck I have had over the years. My torn shoulder and sore neck remind me at all times, "You are retired," and "You are disabled." But when the sun hits my face, I savor its warmth, I focus on the free gifts we so often overlook. If there's a rose along the path, I take its photo. When the evil chatter in the house resumes, I walk swiftly to a room and watch an uplifting story on television, no matter how contrived. I long to be sucked into any other scenario than what really is. I am inside of a prison, but with a mind free to absorb and cherish the abundance of jewels. I choose them.

Into the light I go, alive and well or on my deathbed, ironically the same choice, ordained by God above. I am so grateful for the good things that sweep in at a high frequency, lifting me up at the lowest of times. The chirp of a bird, the blue sky, and fresh ocean air, these are the things to inhale and integrate into my being. Smiling and greeting people, shaking hands, and holding doors. Giving these gifts is not difficult. Choosing happiness, no matter what others' vibrations exude, buoys me up and enforces my commitment to the good things, the light.