Into Madness Through Hazel Eyes

     On the look out; that’s what they warned. 

The doctors, along with medical books, spoke of particular behaviors indicating specific symptoms connected to certain types of personality disorders.   From then on, the world was transformed and became that much more dangerous; lost glimmer of innocence; word to the wise. 

   As that caution rippled its echoed small craft warning, the electric concern could be almost palatable.  All of her afflictions were reasoned out with comparative population percentages of others who also suffered her plight.

    One in four sounds so much more alarming than twenty-five per cent.  That'd narrow it down to something you could wrap your mind around, such as someone in your family might be affected; it was disconcerting to realize that'd put him in the group of consideration. 

   Once that opinion was faced, there would be of course, medical science waiting in the wings to save the day by using regiments of medication and group-talk therapy.  Maybe all anyone ever really needed was to be listened to. 

  Perhaps the hurt would subside naturally if it were not for a desperate hurry to be numbed to the pain.  But, the damage was done, can't go back to ignorant without a hefty dose of mood inhibitor. At that stage, marginalization is for the benefit of society-at-large; the labeled person would be considered a lost cause to a belief that they were, suspicions verified, powerless; in effect a victim to circumstances beyond their control. 

            Prompt to pounce, she'll go about life with a filtered view previously unheard of.  Everyone she knew or meet would be exposed to her coping method of martyrdom.  A minor act; a subtle word; and she would be concluded with barking her accusations.   Resorting to hostility towards the world, as was her contrived pitiable state ~ an innocent wrongly put upon to suffer others callous and unsympathetic abuse.

  She would vent her poison with impunity to the damage she'd viciously inflict.  They said the results were inconclusive, but she stopped listening.  She had been trolling for a reason to demand special treatment and this fell right into her lap.  Bi-polar almost sounded exotic, a just and respectable avenue to entitlement, she’d choose that over borderline personality disorder any day of the week; that struck her as too crass, way too pedestrian, so beneath her effort to maximize the allure of its mysteries. Suffering the struggle for all these years, she was relieved to find a trump card for when her misbehavior cornered her into responsibility for consequences. She now, had an out.

   To think back to all those years, agreeing it was because she was abandoned.  But what course is open to those who loved beyond reason?  Nothing much can be done with recalcitrance except preserver those emotional tempests along with trying hard to remember not to take it personal.  In its way, it could be compared to a saint’s workout.  But then, who doesn't require respite? Or rest from conflict?  In those old war movies, prisoners would be subjected to naked light bulbs – depriving them of sleep, disorienting their cycles- soften them up.  Her nightmares obligated her intimates to unrestrained attention and agreement.  The alternative was the insane possibility that she was delusional, so then; maybe help wasn't needed as much as a desperate call for a change.

   Only the crash of a fragile designed situation would suffice.  Even then, in the aftermath of the settling dust and rubble, she'd make excuses to distance herself from the self-wrought ruination.  One just shouldn't couple with the emotionally unbalanced and not anticipate tendency to stumble into a fall.

   What he did do was recall mostly the frequent visits of trepidation.  How much good was really present when they were together?  She brought teasing, ambushes, and humiliating taunts as a ruse under the banner of boredom; she was accustomed to unleashing cruelty.  Her spoken of adoring spouse had resigned.  He had the misfortune to have an affected creature on his hands.  Foolishly, in the early days, he thought that his love would calm her into what he hoped would be a civil nature.  Mistakenly, he figured his care would be the solution for her.  Only after years of fruitless effort would it become clear to him that her terror was a mandate for his departure; he couldn't fix what he didn't break.

   On the western shores of the great land was the colossal expanse of the Pacific Ocean; said by some, to never remember.  Fittingly she should reside there – so the harm of her company should be forgotten.  He was grateful, that he didn't have to look into her hazel eyes any longer ~ disappointment always unsettled him, even when it was necessary for him to leave it behind in order to survive.