The concept of a “new year” is lost on me. Not in the sense that the number has jumped to a higher one. That obviously makes sense. What doesn’t is this idea of the immense possibility. “I can be a whole new me” just by the stroke of midnight.

I used to be one of those folks. Thinking that because we had ascended another hill and looked at the next surface of climb, we could and would achieve anything. Yet over the past few years I have lost that sense of wonder. I applaude those who still have it. Hold onto it as long as you can because it slips away easier than you think.

For me it broke down when I realized that my problems and troubles would continue no matter what. “New year, new me” be damned. Without a complete and utter fucking overhaul, overnight, my life will remain the exact same. Which is fine. It doesn’t stop there for me. It will not stay the same. In fact it will get worse.

Caring for someone with a progressive terminal illness doesn’t have the hope and possibility that other’s experience. My journey only gets scarier and more traumatizing. So, the mentality of “I can transcend this!” doesn’t apply. This was the same last year, and the year before. And even the year before that. For a brief shining moment at the start of 2019 my outlook looked incredible. Truly. Then on some cosmic plane the deity watching me climb the rope of fate decided to cut it, and I have been clinging to a thread that has gone slack, whose end is plummeting toward my face to knock me back down.

Sorry for being so depressing. However bleak I sound I know that is not my lot in life. Things will change, it just won’t happen with the turn of a new day. Instead it will be in March or August or even in a few years from now. Nothing is permanent. Nothing. Not joy or sadness.

This year, I know will be the hardest of my life. My husband does not have long. Even his doctor, in November, said months. How many? We have yet to guess. But I can see. I know the end is nigh. Although I do not fear it. I don’t even think about it. (At least try not to.) I attempt to focus on the now, the moments that I do have with him. He’s still here. I can still hear his chuckle, smell his breath, see the mischievousness and love in his eyes, and I get to kiss his warm forehead and know that he is here. He is safe.

Death and dying was a lesson I needed that, for me, was prefaced by a “starter course” in community college. Quite literally. Although I did not know it at the time. After that my life forced me to face its ugly reality. To learn repeatedly that the future is not predictable, definite or ever clear. It’s a dense fog, with a little illumination at best. Live in the now. Feel the now. Enjoy this exact moment because we will not have it again.

Happy New Year.

I have always felt like two people. Two very different forces, two ways of thought, two opposing personalities… it’s truly bizarre. I don’t know if others feel or think this way, and it never occurred to me to ask, but it is the real “me.” As I grow older, I become concerned that this might be a sign of schizophrenia because that runs deep in my family. My father had it. How I justify that it’s “okay” is that this other voice, the passive me, is still “Josh.” Just, not me.

Passive me is this empathetic white knight. The one who wants to defend and protect all of those around me. He is honorable. It’s just that he’s really fucking lazy. I say that because he only lives in thought, he never actually does anything. At times he will take over and move to the forefront and become me, however it is only when it’s absolutely necessary for our success. As if he thinks “oh, Josh is gonna fuck this up… better step in.”

The active me is selfish and petulant. He is angry at life and wants to be free of everything. I’d rather do what I want to do, when I want with no consequences. The primary josh is also the one with the short fuse and hot temper.

It is these two forces that fight inside of me at all times. Yet the thing I find odd is that “passive me” is the one with the firmer voice. Usually he is the one that talks some sense into the belligerent one. Lately though… that isn’t the case.

I am constantly at odds with myself. My life is chaos and I go into these fits of rage in my head (sometimes audibly while alone in the car) where neither wins. It’s just absolute insanity.

It’s the same bullshit everyday where I am angry that I have no control of my life. If I wanted to do something is always at the whim of someone else. I need permission.

Perhaps that’s why I the angry side is looming large in these moments. It’s my inner child fighting back.

The image I have of this battle is like a pulsing, swirling ying-yang, almost as a dual colored sun.

The glasses of grief truly distort one’s perception of reality. At least it has for me. Suddenly all I see around me exists in this moment only, and we must be grateful for it because it could be gone in an instant. I dare say that this is how we should view the world always. Only then can we appreciate what it is we have.

Today is my husband’s birthday. In all likelihood this is his last. What am I doing to commemorate his 46th year on this planet? Nothing. Much like our anniversary it will pass by without any significance. We will sit at home and just exist.

I hate that I have planned nothing. I just feel guilt like I’m letting him down. But when I try to think of a plan I am met with all the limitations to what he is physically able to do, regardless of his wants (which are none) that I become overwhelmed and stop.

I wish I could say that this is a new character flaw but it is in fact packaged with this model. It’s why I procrastinate.

I wish I could remember the first birthday I spent with him but for the life of me I have no memory of it. The most likely scenario was that he worked and then we went out to dinner where he would have paid. At the time I was a selfish 18 year old boy with no job. I probably ended up giving him a sexual gift in lieu of anything meaningful.

Ugh… I have turned this into a “poor me” post. I need a new perspective. I’m not the one dying here. Therefore I shouldn’t be so miserable.

Tonight, like I do most days, I started to wonder what my life will look like without personal chaos. Since July 2019 it has been spinning out of control. My dad died the same week my mom was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s, which was only three months prior to my husband going on medical leave before ultimately diagnosed with a terminal illness a year later.

This entire time I have just been pushing through, focusing ahead, prepared to meet the next hurdle. And when this race is all over… what then? What will I be like? What will I do?

Already, I am not the man who started. I have been shaped and molded by this grief. It has destroyed my mind. My memory is shit. My problem solving skills are very rough. I don’t want to go back to that person, because I do believe there has been growth and development. I just want to stop losing aspects I once treasured.

My life has narrowed down to a near distinct point. I just exist for another person. To keep him going. Keep him comfortable; happy. To carry him toward the end.

There is a world outside of the home that I now spend 90% inside of, but I seem to care less and less about it. Or anything else really. Social media has become a side note to everything.

And then as I start to look up, past the mess, and toward the distant horizon I am overwhelmed with guilt. How could/can I think of a life without someone in it. How could/can I be so selfish? I know life does/will go on… but do I have to think of that now? As the guilt sinks deeper into my body I move to other thoughts and vices.