Personal Journal

No Title

In short, the last six months:

I'm back from Maryland. I gave up computer games to take up a new hobby, miniature painting (something I had done as an adolescent). Jean was diagnosed with a glioblastoma multiforme brain tumor, which something where fewer than 2 percent of patients survive three years, and fewer than 1 percent survive 5 years or more.

I'm so angry at her. She's been so mean to me. I really can't think about it deeply because I'd like to tear her head off when I do think about it.

I don't deserve to be treated like this, and yet, I've come to expect to be treated like this from her. Sometimes I hate her, and as awful as it is to say, I hope it's sooner rather than later that this cancer takes her, because on a weekly basis, this abusive treatment by her reaches the point where I can't bear it anymore and I just have to shut myself down or get away from her. Sometimes I yell at her back. I've been pretty good about not swearing anymore. And I've figured out a few ways to push her buttons such that she regrets having started in on me.

I feel sorry for her, terribly sorry. I do know that a lot of this is just a woman who has a death sentence taking it out on the one person who will forgive her. My friend Peg, a survivor, told me that she did it to her husband. But I'm truly ashamed of the way I let her treat me some of the time. I don't think it's wrong to let her scream on and on and ignore my humanity. But I do feel ashamed for not valuing myself more than I seem to.

I think it's about trying to value her humanity more in this predicament. To try to treat her as normally as can be. That's what she wants (and that's why sometimes I get up and yell back at her to stop). Eventually she apologizes, but over the past 2 months, it's adding up faster than I wish it would.

Sometimes I want to cry because she's hurt me so bad, and when I feel that way, I can feel this collective shame cast upon me from the societal consciousnous, that it's not MY time to be comforted, it's hers.

I'm tired. I spend all of my time either at work or caring for her, so it seems. I guess I get about 2 hours of painting in on most nights. I was at work today at 5:20, woke up early. Maybe a nap today, if I'm fortunate, and maybe I can keep Jean from bringing up last night, because I don't want to go over it.

I wonder if it's ever going to get better than this. And my intuition tells me that it's not, and I'm not normally a pessimist...

It is never too late to be what you might have been. -- George Eliot
Courage to start and willingness to keep everlasting at it are the requisites for success. -- Alonzo Newton Benn