Touch and go, minute by minute

I have experienced low points in the multitudes these last three years. This current version has some new angles. The pain is more acute. I feel nauseous. I can't get my clothing organized. My focus is missing.

Sleep, please. I just want to escape from this.

Today’s event is completing the contract to sell my beloved home in NYC. I’ve lived in that apartment for 28 years, and it brought me more happiness than my wife did during that long stretch. (One time my wife illegally locked me out—and threatened. She also threatened to kill herself either our kitchen knives pretty regularly. Her sense of justice felt skewed to me.)

The demise of my beautiful home is a disaster. All those good memories and not a peep.  She’s not an empath—whew…understatement!  No purpose reaching out to her—she’s ghosted me for three years now. I spent half that time in this apartment since then, most of it unable to get off one of the couches. I spent six major three day holidays there by myself, not talking to another soul. 

This is the legacy I leave behind. A beloved home echoing loneliness, fear, depression.  So many meals there but in the end I stopped eating. I will close the door the final time within 30 days and I won’t look back, but I can’t stop crying for myself as I write this epitaph. 

God I picked the wrong life partner. I fucked that up so bad. I spent our first night together listening to her trash her parents, describe how she had no friends in high school—and not disclose that she was married.  And I fucking let this whack-job move in with me!  I certainly got what I paid for…and will always pay for in decreased vitality, mental health bills, and clinical fear of people.