You had me at "I can make that move with my mind"

Mediation, Buddhism, energy, chakras and things of that sort were something I found interesting and intruiging in the 19 year old Dave. I didn't personally believe in them as I had grown up with a Christian faith which basically discouraged all of those things. But I had never met a guy of his age...or anyone of any age actually, who had such an interest in that stuff. He was gentle, peaceful and soft spoken and had been practicing meditation for quite some time, so I thought that if this was the end result of all of the above activities then maybe they weren't so bad. At times he had tried to explain meditation to me as well as how he could generate and feel energy throughout his body. In particular he would focus on generating energy between his hands. I never really bought into any of it but just accepted that this was part of his life and what he was interested in. He would demonstrate this by rubbing his hands together then placing them about 3 inches apart and then ask me to put my hand between his. I felt heat, yes, but that was logical considering he just finished rubbing his hands together. He described it as more than just that. Okay, whatever, not my thing. And I don't mean to pick apart every strange or unique thing Dave has ever done. That would hurt him and I certainly don't want to do that. But these behaviors lead to more elaborate things. Part of me still wonders if any of it were true in the ways he was describing them. You never know.... Years later, either slightly before or shortly after our twins came to be ours Dave asked me to come sit beside him on the couch. Our TV was straight ahead of us on a 100 year old shelf I had stained. From the shelf hung a wispy orange scarf. Dave asked me to focus on the scarf and tell him when it moved. Well....I didn't cue him to any movement but then he asked me "did you see that?" Dave was trying to show me that he could move the scarf with his mind. My explanation for this would be more similar to when you stare at something so long that it begins to distort. I was sad. Confused. Afraid. And then avoided the whole thing entirely. I didn't know I was such an avoider until I looked back at the mess of years of avoidance. I like to replace that thought with maybe I was a supportive wife who loved a man who had so many plans but never quite lived up to any of them. I also like to pretend that I don't look stupid in all of this. But the questions of why I did not say anything and why I did not leave sooner or ask for help sooner haunted me then and even a little now. There is no answer to these questions because I simply do not know. What I do know is that in times of hurt or crisis or anger or avoidance, I seem to focus on what needs to be done, put a smile on my face and carry on. That probably made me look like the crazy one in the midst of cleaning out our basement and storage containers full of survival supplies and five garage sales to get rid of it all. But I am not sure what else I could have done. I survived it, after all.

Illusions

I have realized that one part of this disease that can be most frustrating is the illusion of normalcy. There are periods of time and certain activities that carry on as anyone's do. Normal, every day activities that make Dave seem fine to me. Could it be the nature of disorganized schizophrenia which paints a sense of normalcy on the surface to shroud the confusion of the disease below? Or maybe it is the and routine I have built into our lives and how casually we drift toward and apart from each other for the sake of our little ones. This routine is so far from what I thought life had in store for me but it is a routine, nonetheless. As far from the my intended path as this seems to me, I recall Dave suggesting that maybe this is the way things were supposed to be. At the time, that confused me, angered me. How dare he say that the hell we have gone through was simply my destiny. But now I see that it's true. We had no choice in this disease taking over our future plans and dreams. Schizophrenia took it all away without asking my permission. So, given that aspect, perhaps the routine we have settled on, is in fact the way it was supposed to be. Dave's disease enables him to at least function and seem normal for the few hour intervals I am around him for. Maybe longer, but I have no way of knowing. During this window of time I see a fairly put-together guy. I know he has schizophrenia but I don't have to deal with the day to day realities of it and things seem normal. That is, if you would consider two exes hanging out with their children in relative harmony, normal. Since we couldn't prevent the illness perhaps this is the best way for us to coexist. The best way for him to participate in our kids lives. The best way for me to feel like things are normal. Sometimes realities are sad, but actually work when you take the time to consider the alternative. Much to be thankful for I guess, and at least I can recognize when an illusion is only that. So what does the existence of an illusion mean for Dave? Maybe he gets caught up in the illusion as well. Not sure if his short visits with the kids have lead Dave to believe that he could handle them full time or if it may have been suggested that AISH would be approved faster if he had the children. He says he truly wanted to provide me with an option for stress relief, but somehow Dave came to the conclusion that life could go on as normal if the children lived with him. My anger met feelings of horror and disbelief and pure confusion when this idea was brought forth. So casually as well. Did Dave fall victim to the small glimpses of normal that we get when he is helping the twins with dinner and getting them ready for bed? When I poured out question after question Dave had no answers for me. I believe it was the illusion of normalcy that got to him too. I fall prey to this periodically and must remind myself that all is not normal. All is not simple and easy. I can be temporarily distracted by ideas of normal but for Dave the illusion is not so easily differentiated from ugly reality. That is, there is no way he could raise our children. This is truly a sad and unexpected reality. Particularly when I made it exceptionally clear that the children would never go to live with him. We never have nor will be ever be "normal". But thankful is something each of us can try to work into our lives. Some days it's easier than others.