Late last night as I couldn’t sleep I turned to Jane Eyre. Honestly, I was simply relieved that I could concentrate on anything long enough to read several pages. It’s been so very long since I could pay attention to a story, let alone engage in it.
I happened to open up to the ending where Jane and Mr. Rochester reunite. As I listened to them interact, I related in a new way. That’s the thing about this novel – I relate to so much of it and frequently gain new insights upon fresh readings. To the point, he’s bemoaning his wretched and worthless state which is of no consequence to her. I thought to myself, “Maybe this is how my husband feels in response to my lost abilities. I should stop comparing myself to who I was and accept that I am not a burden to someone who loves me so purely.”
That buoyed me throughout today. Our love is as deep and pure as theirs, so of course he wants to be of service to me and to be with me regardless.
However, Mr. Rochester lost an arm and his sight and he was prone to bouts of melancholy if left to dwell on circumstances. He still had his mind, his vigor, wealth that allowed him to be at leisure in his disabilities, and everything else that made him him. I still have my sight, but I’m losing just about everything else. My mind is going – whether it’s simply mixing words up and forgetting words or becoming lost and confused in totally normal settings or unable to understand new information – my mind is going and I am now an intellectual who can’t think. I have no vigor and in fact become worn out by the slightest of tasks such as walking from the couch to the kitchen. I can’t contribute financially to our household which was built on a two person budget because I can no longer physically or mentally hold a job. My heart is having issues. My nervous system is failing to the point that I can no longer grip items for more than a few moments at a time. I am in constant full-body pain. Oh, and as if that isn’t enough to cause depression my childhood traumas combined with my brain’s chemicals significantly interferes with my life.
Okay, so Jane had to be his cane and seeing-eye-companion. But they were still able to have engaging conversations and read interesting books. They were still able to go on walks and be active together. They were still able to entertain friends for long periods of time. Part of him had diminished, but most of him remained. But I do little more than sit. When I am able to interact of late, my mood has been nasty and compelled me to remove myself from the situation – better to remain obsolete than to only be active for dramatics. My increasing disability removes all purpose of existence.
I’m an intellectual who can’t think. An over achieve who can’t achieve. An active person who spends every day on the couch. An artist who can’t create. A story lover who can’t read books or watch shows and movies anymore. A neat freak in a dirty house because I don’t have the energy to clean. I am no longer me but rather a body trying to survive each day.
I am no longer buoyed. Perhaps they don’t float in such deep and choppy waters.
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