And I could smoke my weed and drink my beer and tequila with impunity. I just had to have good results on the old meter. And the sex was just icing on the cake. I could even eat bad foods, provided I had sex right afterward, and this would give me a "happy" reading on the meter.
Fast forward five years, my wife's MS has consumed us both. Everything revolves around her care, from the changing of diapers, the making of meals, the laundry, the non-healing toe injury to the occasional whims which must be appeased or her wrath incurred.
I don't know who I am apart from this. I do dishes, cook, clean and help her into the shower. She has no activity, bedridden 100%. I shop, I come home, I mow the lawn, I let the cats out, bring them in, change their litter box, feed the dog, paint the shed--but apart from these things, I don't know who I am.
I know who I am not. I'm not the guy having any fun at the moment. I'm not the guy feeling peace unsurpassable or enlightenment. I have been (and still find myself) the guy crying about the unregainable past, the guy angry with God for giving my wife her disability, for robbing her of her young body and leaving her to suffer inside its shell. I'm the guy seeking answers in every book and tape and catching only glimpses which flicker and conflict and utterly leave me confused with unbearable sorrow.
Who am I? The one writing this? Certainly not! This is just distilled pain, from thoughts about how senseless this life appears to me. Who is the me who argues with the me that bitches and complains? Who is the one who "understands on some deeper level?" Hogwash, I will never get it. I thought I came close, I really did.
All the new age prophets agreed with me, too: "Life is just a game." Well, is it? Why is it not any fun? Why do I keep losing? Am I not playing it right? Do I have a bad attitude? Can I find fulfillment in doing what I am doing? Should I be doing something different? Where is the Holy Spirit in all of this?
I have tried to be a better person, but it just seems pointless. I don't feel anything good, but I do feel all that is bad. So I should do good anyway, like Mother Theresa says?
If I could pick one religion and follow it, I am sure there would be peace--but all religions contain errors and contradictions, so which one would I choose? They all say, "Stay away from that one" or "This one is OK, but the real truth is..." and I am left scratching my head, or picking my earwax, to be precise.
I have indulged myself in my perceived pleasures, and while they made me feel pretty darn good when done in moderation, they were transitory and always either had to end or led to me wanting the next thing. It was a happy carousel, chasing the next high or buzz or level of numbness (dumbness). I don't regret any of it.
I just don't know what I'm supposed to feel or do now to supposedly advance to the next level of awareness, consciousness, Being or whatever. I feel like I keep coming up with more bitterness, emptiness, and confusion, the more I supposedly seek. And, sure, I could say my meditation and prayer is pretty paltry and weak if I am really attempting to contact God.
But shouldn't He be contacting me? Why does it always have to be about what I am doing wrong? What I must be overlooking or failing at? Are there not billions of people on this planet, some more aware and some less? Are we all lost? Are we all going to hell? Really, now!
And what of all this suffering and the seeming inequity of it all? One person worries about the brakes on his Mercedes, and my wife worries about if she'll poop today. Maybe she doesn't even worry, she just accepts it. And it sucks, yes it does. Judge, judge, judge--yes, I do.
Who, really, am I? It was so much easier when I was just diabetic.
