Personal Journal

Looking inward

I smoked this weekend, first time in a long time. It’s good and it’s bad, and what strikes me as I write is the bad. The self-criticism, borne of my insecurities. I’m a good measure more secure nowadays than I was in the past. I was worried about my money mistakes coming up to haunt me, but they didn’t. What bothers me is wondering whether I have some type of attachment disorder in regards to other human beings. I don’t want Jean to die, and yet, somewhere inside of me is a place that’s kind of unaffected by it. Thinking about it now, I don’t know if that’s true. Maybe it’s just a disassociation factor of smoking, and also the ever-present denial that I recognize.
First, I have to say that if it were ME who was dying, I think I’d be able to muster the same kind of detachment. I’d have to attempt to explain this with the notion that I’m at peace with my understanding of the universe. Indeed, I’m obviously much more at peace with the universe than I am with myself, which seem to be contradictory. I guess I recognize the universe and existence for what it is, but with myself, I’m constantly trying to balance positive against negative, and that’s difficult. The sum total of the universe, in my understanding, is good. The sum total of myself is always in the balance… hmmm… well said…
I’m not indifferent to the notion that Jean is dying, is going to die. I don’t like the fact that I can be objective about it, perhaps is the issue. And I’ll be damned if I let anyone forget that I haven’t given up hope yet, that I pray, and that I’d give anything to have her free of this cancer. I think I can say safely that if I could take it for her, I honestly would – it’d be easier for me, and I think I’m not so attached to life that I’d be scared of the afterlife.
I found myself painting miniatures and thinking about all of this on Friday night while Jean was just near comatose from chemo effects. And I wonder sometimes, what’s wrong with me, why am I not more disturbed by all of this… I don’t understand. A part of me is spiritual, and understanding of tragedy, and doesn’t personalize this tragedy. Another part of me is critical and is examining the Self for flaws. Jean is there on the couch, unconscious, and I’m wondering whether my soul is human enough.
Should I be distraught? Because I’m not. I actually find the scene peaceful, her there sleeping, trying to recover, and I’m over on the other side of the room, watchful, her protector, and also detached, painting, doing the normal things I do…
Writing it now, reliving it, I remember last night when she caught nauseous again, and when those moments come, I conform to what is important. Trying to comfort, being attentive. At that moment on Friday, my attention was unnecessary, even though I was aware of her (and thus, being somewhat attentive). It’s as if my Persecutor was deliberately trying to find fault with me, ignoring perhaps that the situation was entirely appropriate.

So what about the future – the idea that I’m not devastated by the prognosis. I don’t know. The Persecutor would say that I’m really not that good a person. Another issue, though, is that denial is essential, don’t you think? If I spend every moment now imagining how bad the future is going to get and how terrible it would be if Jean were to deteriorate and die, I’m not really going to function well. I would start living with grief right now, before it’s appropriate, and, in fact, before it’s useful. There’s no real sense grieving right now, because the grief can’t run its course (come, be experienced, and then go away) until the reason for grief has come to pass.
Jean has said that she wants a normal life, and would I could give it to her, god knows I’d try. Is it reasonable for me to explain my actions by saying that in fact, I’m treating her normally? We get mad at each other, we laugh, and I think I’m pretty good at caregiving, in fact…I feel pretty useful. I can cook. I clean well. I’m patient and accommodating most times (more on that another time), and in fact, given the seriousness of this situation, I think I’m a well-suited person to look after someone in such a serious state.

Now, Jean has some other issues that really aggravate me, and I’m sorry to have to say that some of her behaviors cause me distress, particularly those that are resultant of her illness. But we have one real problem and one minor one.
The minor problem first: Jean isn’t willing to experiment to reach better health. She’s been nauseous all weekend, and she hasn’t been willing to try things that have worked in the past to get her feeling better. We got this smoke simply because a friend provided it to help Jean with nausea, and it helped last Wednesday and Thursday. Now she’s not willing to smoke anymore, and that frustrates me. First, I don’t want her feeling sick, because it’s one of the worst things for her (nausea – it’s something she struggles against futilely, making herself even more miserable than if she could relax and just vomit). Second, and I hate to admit this, but it’s true, it is very discomforting to have to listen to someone moaning and whimpering constantly.
And to be truthful, I swear, it angers me that she’ll lie there doing the moaning and whimpering but that she refuses to smoke (or to call a doctor and ask for help with other meds, whatnot). I don’t think that it’s a terrible sin of mine to feel this way. But I’ll try to deal with it, and not to develop the sense of irritation about it.
The more serious problem is that Jean is so isolated. She refuses to reach out and maintain contact with people. She doesn’t answer the phone, she won’t talk to people when they call (except her mom and brother) and then she goes off on rants about how no one cares about her and into these very self-pitying episodes. I’m working on that, though. I talked to the neighbors today about having a barbecue at their house this weekend; I’ll bring the food. Second, I made her promise to call her friend in NJ and her friend in Denver… however, she hasn’t done it yet, and I’m being forced to either concede the issue, or to nag her until she gets pissed off at me (at which point, I’ll have to concede it, and she can do it or not as she deems fitting).
We’ll just have to see.
I always know my journaling is getting deep into the soul when I get sleepy while writing, which is happening now….


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