And When The Night Is Cloudy There Is Still A Light That Shines On Me

 Lest We Forget

The feelings of grief, anger, and betrayal after the discovery of the affair have made me see the world through a cataract eye.  Nothing is clear or concise.  There are no clearly defined borders.  There is no good or evil in this story. 

Jenny isn't a child eating ogre who is never kind to me, who lashes out in anger all the time. She presents, generally, as loving and kind, even when texting with Eric the pinche motherfucker. She is, though,
intentionally choosing to do something incredibly painful to me, and doesn't care enough about me to stop hurting me every single day. That she acts lovingly toward me just fucks with my head. She walks around seemingly oblivious that the fact that she refuses to stop the affair while she is dying makes me feel like I am standing in a wind tunnel on a bed of nails. This dissonance, both cognitive and emotional, makes me feel all the more like I have lost the plot here. 

I love her. I care for her. I do what I can to ease her pain when she is suffering, without a feeling of being put upon.  I yearn to care for her. I hate to see her suffer. It pains me to my core.  I have aged 10 years in 7 months worrying and caring for her, and suffering because of her. I would still, even now, give anything for her to be cured. I can't walk away from her now. I would have been gone in September if she weren't sick.  The pain then was just unbearable. Every day I wake up knowing she is going to die, and doesn't love me enough to think about the pain she is causing, and the legacy of pain she will leave for me when she dies. How do I recover from this? How? The weight of the pain grows with each passing day.  The fact that I can't go on those long walks with this vertigo is not helping.  I can only laugh at the madness of the world, which, I guess is what my therapist suggested I do, so.   .    .winning!!!
Funny, I opened up the journal today to post something positive. I was reading an interview with Primo Levi yesterday that made an impression on me, and I thought would have an impact on my journal entry today.  He writes about the importance of reporting just the facts when describing what happens in life--when he was in Auschwitz he said he was scribbling notes on whatever scraps he could find to make sure he could accurately describe its horrors. I believe he was suggesting that the most effective way to get someone to understand what you have witnessed is to leave out editorial content, which would mean expunging emotion.  He was a Ph.D chemist, a resistance fighter, a death camp survivor, an incredible human being, and one of my heroes. But me, well, how do I separate the wheat from the chaff? This experience is so paltry compared to the enormity of what he lived through, it does help to put it all in perspective, even if I can't write without emotion.
 
So, just to document.  I was told by the doctor this diagnosis also included migraine.  I have never had such a thing.  So vertigo, amped up constant tinnitus (not new, just worse), and migraine.  Job and I should compare notes.


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