I am going insane. And they say, he is the one with the mental health issue.
My father-in-law sits there, talking to people only he can he see. He sits there bellowing out to us to attend to his needs. He sits there, in his 84-year-old fragile frame, vibrating needy and stubbornness. Sometimes, he stands, and then, he falls. We tell him not to try walking by himself. We command him, we implore him, we beg him. But he remains steadfast, the stiffness in his mind, reflecting the stiffness in his body.
I am worried. Not for him, but for my son, who seems to take after his grandfather in his stubborn habits. I hope sanity prevails in the child I am growing. But that, is a story for another day.
Today, is the story of my own fleeting sanity that is cooped up within the same four walls as that of a mad-man. It is the tale of someone breathing in the air that has been breathed out by a psychotic mind, 24 hours a day. Sometimes, the feelings that I cannot help growing makes me wonder who is driving whom into lunacy.
They don’t understand. They are all going away, somewhere, someplace. They have places to go, people to meet, things to do. They are free. They are with their family. I am the stranger with a thankless job. They will never understand that I am the one left to tip-toe around insanity.
And it is breaking me.
Every day, I rouse to a challenge, the darkness does not leave me, despite the warmth of the sunlight. Every day, I wake up with a war-cry. I am waging a war against my own madness, trying to retain and regain every sound of pulse that feels alive within me. I know I am a warrior.
As are you.
Humans are born needy and stubborn. But we grow up as warriors, each one of us, having our own battles to fight. My battlefield exists within me. Yes, I am a warrior, and l let out the fiercest battle-cry every day. I hope to win this war.
I also know that not every war can be won. But if I have to fall, I fall as a warrior. And that little phrase lends me some peace. I am determined to gain my piece of peace.
For there are dreams. I hope to grow silver someday, the gray in my hair matching the wisdom of grey within my head. I hope to feel alive, carrying my well-being from here into eternity. The vision of my well-being, my soul’s beautiful dance, is still alive inside my mind’s eye. That is why I hope to win this war.
Here’s to growing alive, breathing warriorhood and wisdom!