Day 51


I love kissing.  The blackness took kissing away.

Let me explain.

The first part of that statement is so very true: I love kissing.  I love the feeling of my wife’s wet lips on mine.  I discovered I love the feeling of her lips on my shaved cheek (face, not butt).  I will shave off my beard if I feel like the over- and under-lip interfere with the kiss.  I love kissing in public [AN ASIDE: I love holding hands in public, hugging in public, laughing in public (I love this one especially), non-over-the-top displays of affection in public – and not because they are public, that’s not the case.  I love these in-public displays of affection because they are not for-public displays of affection.  This begs the question: well, if they aren’t for-public displays of affection, why does the being in public element even matter?  Well, devoted readers, the in-public element is key to the bubble.  All my other relationships, for the most part, dissuaded public displays of affection for the typical reasons (also because they weren’t as all-encompassing, but that’s a different reason).  However, with my wife, the public displays of affection take me out of the world.  Non-public displays of affection happen in our world, in our bubble; there is a beginning and an end to them because the act of kissing is diluted by all the other in-bubble activities.  Not to say they aren’t as enjoyable, but they are action sequences within a Die Hard movie, not an explosion during an opera.  With in-public displays, there does not feel like a beginning or an end to them, just the “is,” just the act.  That’s what makes them special = they allow for a brief but necessary interlude into the bubble (also the reason why a true in-public kiss at work is the best, since that isn’t an opera but a funeral some days).  AND BACK TO OUR REGULARLY SCHEDULED LOBOTOMY].  I love getting lost in kissing her body.  I love guessing which spot on her neck to kiss, which spot will make her the most excited, whether or not the spots she kisses me are the spots she wants to be kissed.  I love Kisses Day (our monthly first kiss anniversary) for its creation and every time that we do it right.

And the blackness took a lot of that comfort away.  More than a few times in our first few months, anxiety around sex ran roughshod through our relationship.  It is true that we made love when we were ready to share that, but fear and anxiety crept in more than once.  Now that I think back, the sleeping pills impacted my ability to get an erection (essentially a prescribed whiskey-dick) and my wife’s negative reactions (also fear and anxiety) dug deep into my brain, multiplying exponentially when it reached the blackness’ wanting ears.  It was one of the reasons I got off the pills, because it was taking parts of that comfort away, but the blackness still held onto some of that anxiety.  Then came not eating enough during the day (hungry-dick can be the same as whiskey-dick) and being more tired than I thought, which led to even greater bouts of anxiety and fear, discussions in the mirror and self-hate as I finished her off, unable to be there with her.  And again, the blackness kept that ammunition tucked away for moments of sudden vulnerability, a giant “fuck you” to everything that I hold dear from the last paragraph: kissing.  Because, kissing leads to sex (sometimes) and so if you take away the antecedent (kissing), you take away the consequence (sex) and the nerve-racking anxiety that comes with it [not only for me, but for my wife also, who has her own irrational self-consciousness and anxieties that leads to me misunderstanding her impatience as something unfair; it isn’t, it’s understandable, because I want it too].

I miss kissing.  I miss sex.  I miss the comfort and escape that both of those have held for me, for us.  My blacklist contains so many sex and intimacy elements because the blackness took away so many of those things.  I need to remind myself that there are no more pills.  I need to remind myself that there are terrible consequences to staying hungry during the day.  I need to remind myself that the blackness wins every time a peck will not do.  I need to remind myself of what I love: I want more kissing and more sex because I want it, because we want it.  This is what will work for us.


Day 12


I can’t understand why I was the way I was when I walked through the door this afternoon – in immediate and non-immediate hindsight, I really didn’t want to act that way.  I got pretty riled up at the end of my school day and I was a little snackish, but the “asshole-ese” was coming out without me even wanting to hear it.  My wife was being kind and understanding and I just didn’t want to hear any of what she was saying: it seemed forced and false and that she was hiding something.  What shook me out of it?  Love, hugs, kisses – things that cannot be misconceived or misinterpreted.  Honest emotion without my mind misconstruing words or actions – fucked up me, can’t even appreciate kindness sometimes through my own foggy mind.

I do agree with my wife that the MindBodyGreen article truly resonates.  Perhaps I should “mantra” through the stress – a new tool to manage the blackness:  “Treat each moment together as though it could be your last.  Rabbi and author Joshua Loth Liebman said it best: ‘Treasure each other in the recognition that we do not know how long we shall have each other.’”

If I never see her again, I don’t want the disease to have my last words.  I don’t want the asshole-ese to be the last thing she hears coming out of my mouth.  I need to fix me so that I can fix this.  I need to show her my heart and not my darkness (this goes for my family as well, as I can’t count the number of times asshole-ese has come out with my parents).

Treat each moment together as though it could be your last.

Treat each moment together like your last.

Each moment could be the last.

Moments last.

Day 2


Did the decision to have sex with my wife come a lot easier after breakfast, or is it just my imagination?  I got lost in her, in the act, more than I have in a while.  We have gone longer between making love, but this felt quiet.  The thinking stopped.  The spinning that goes on 98% of the time slowed down enough for me to get lost in her.  It was amazing.  The result was the same for us, but my ability to get lost in it made it something more for me.   I can’t remember the last time that happened – getting lost in her, in making love; riding the roller coaster, being a part of us; not being somewhere else.  It felt like the start of that six-year-old image/moment I hold in my head, coming back from school to sit behind her and want to kiss the back of her neck.  Not thinking about kissing her neck or why I was doing it, but just trusting that it was perfect for that moment and being in that moment with her.

I can only imagine how it will feel to find myself losing myself more often – I want to get that thoughtlessness back.  Living in the moment feels so good.