The format has changed since I was here last. I hate it. I have finally accepted there is nothing more I can do to help my husband’s mental condition, I can only help me. To those of you who would be critical, walk 10 years in my shoes.
We moved to Hawaii and fell in love. The island fell in love with us, we were born there, for the first time. I did not exist until I loved Hawaii, and loved him. Until the loved for him ceased. Not at once, like a break-down. Like a slow squeaking oil leak that never gets fixed. No matter how I tried to patch it, it was just wax on a hot engine.
I will always be connected to the land as is to him. I will grow with its trees, nap on its soil, and I will dream of him, that he is with me. But he will not be, because he refuses the help that has been offered.
I will dream, and wake, and sleep again and he will never leave my heart. I will love him always. I will carry that love to the seas and through the breeze and over the ocean but I cannot be with him. For the madness within him seeps lead into my heart.
I am devastated, and I know for all the support I have, I will never be alone. Yet when you love, and your soul is on fire, and has been so for years, it is difficult to squelch that flame. As it turns out, only madness can do it. I wish at times he’d cheated, or I had, I could just hate him, or hate me, but I can only hate this illness which drives a wedge between us. I cannot do a thing, only he can inside of its grasp.
I am tired, sad, and helpless. I have a rich, full life otherwise. Prospects and dance. Love for hula. Love for the spirit carried within my heart. Love for the mountain and the sea. And love for he, for he is all those things. I will have to know him through the mountains and the sea, though, for he cannot know me. He cannot know me.