Why I am so strong through it all, or at least, why I try to be. Why I try to be strong through her rage, her blackness-opened doors of poisonous anger, toxicity that takes away the eyes I love so dearly. Eyes that even when taken for a split second, can make a moment into eternity.
There is motivation to be by my wife’s side through her struggle, her recovery. This motivation was written long ago, at a time when writing was not this. But maybe it was, because that writing was still an expression of feelings I couldn’t yet verbalize, ones that had to process. But this first piece of writing was simply about that motivation, about that love:
“There isn’t much in this world of which I am certain. The sun rises, the day ends, the stars shine — that’s about it … until I fell in love with her. We came into each other’s lives and turned them upside down. Everything I thought I knew about myself and my capacity to feel emotion were completely up-ended. She made my entire life paradigm make no sense one minute and make total sense the next. Tomorrow became yesterday, night became day, and time never mattered again … not when she is in my life.”