https://steemitimages.com/DQmXuVVopYJycBVq1ockJcrxDDh9Ej2mPw8f5bv23nVnffx/starrystarrynight-02.jpg

01 - Starry starry night

02 - Coming clean

This was supposed to be one of the last chapters. Instead here it is. Now. I suggest reading 01 - Starry starry night before continuing with this chapter. It'll make a little more sense.

She is my wife. I was writing as her. In her name for she cannot write from there. She can only silently howl in pain. They took her phone away. Dangerous object for some reason. Perhaps they will give it back soon. All the kind messages of good wishes from our beautiful family and friends will be patiently waiting for her in that little device. Meanwhile it is left to me to smuggle her own messages out.

I don't know whether or not to continue this blog. After the last visit and after seeing the terrible bruises I had no inclination whatsoever to continue. Too raw an experience. Is my writing too frivolous an exercise I wonder. Perhaps it somehow makes light of her horror. Here I am writing in complete freedom while she is interned in the ward. It's no consolation that she chooses by default to remain. She chooses to remain as it is the safest place in which to grapple with her demons. Anyway, to come home would be to come back to a reality difficult in itself. Hopefully one day I will write more about that.

Meanwhile, what do I do now? Continue her story? Even tho she encourages me in telling it, is it truly Ok to do so? To lay open her wounds to all? She hasn't even seen what I've written yet. But if I do write on her behalf, it must be in the first person, otherwise half of her experience is lost. Perhaps I will write. If I do write, one of the chapters will be entitled 'Microcosm' - for the ward is a microcosm of the sane insanity of the world outside. Her idea. I wonder if it is possible to delete posts or even accounts. Or is everything written indelibly into the blockchain?

This is becoming my own catharsis. I may just write about my own experience as well; about suddenly becoming a single parent. Almost a widower. Powerless to help her but having to be all powerful in holding the house together. A hapless father suddenly folding the laundry. Not that I didn't before. But it was her responsibility to make sure that it was done. To nag me to put it in the machine and then to tell me that I must hang it to dry as I had put it in the machine. Now I must nag myself.

Nearly two weeks already. Reality is only just dawning. Enough. I will just hit the post button before I hit the clear link instead. I hope it is possible to delete all of this if I change my mind ...