House of Mirrors I

I am posting this as I write it, because there are a few posts, maybe all in this one post, maybe in different ones. But consider it a draft and a work in progres.

 How to describe the indescribable? The totally unimaginable, unfathomable world of living with an insane person? I can't fathom it and yet I am living it. I walk into a house every day and don't know what it will look like when I walk in, what it will look like from minute to minute, and what part of anything is real. It is so disorienting that I feel completely off kilter; as if the floors are slanted, or not, as if the wall ahead may not really be a wall, but instead, a mirror, a fun house mirror in which I stare at my hand, longish fingers, slender, but reach that hand out yo meet the reflection. Hand reaching out to hand, but when the fingers meet the hand I see is short and square, wavey as if under water, or a different colour, or maybe not even a hand at all, but some sort of distorted claw, the foot of a raven, perhaps, or a three toed sloth, or maybe even something that is not appendage, such as a dandelion gone to seed. And then the mind does that torque thing, the thing that feels like a rope being twisted back and forth and turned inside out, making a two dimensional object into  three dimensions, three into four. These are the mental mechanics that occur when driving up a road and a car is coming straight on, and the mind flashes through all reasonable possibilities--I am on the wrong side of the road, the road is really narrow here, making sense in the reasonable world of what is not reasonable. And so it is, reach out, look in the mirror, look in the reflection of the reflection of the mirror, get lost in the reflections, but each reflection is different, so are they reflections at all? And which one is the real one, and the mind screams to hold on to what it knows is real, to what it knows is true, screams like an animal dying in the woods at night, grasping at anything, grabbing for substance, for affirmation, but where is affirmation to come from in a house of mirrors, and what is to be believed? Each image beckons, each is seductive, enticing one to grasp onto it, to trust, but then something happens, a flash of light, an almost undetected movement and uncertainty takes hold, thankfully, because to fall into those traps is perhaps to never get out. And that is annihilation.