Maybe too much self-reflection is dangerous, but I increasingly feel introverted, pulled into myself, as if I am somehow closeted and contained within a cocoon of thought. 

This experience is shutting me down and pushing me further away from life in general. The point is I do not feel uncomfortable about that isolation. I spend a lot of time reflecting, and in that reflection, I so often feel negativity. It is just not good. 

Increasingly, feelings of gloom and doom come over me. I am fighting it, and it seems that that fight is not as strong as it should be. I very rarely feel euphoric and frequently, increasingly, feel despair. My depression is permanent, and my feelings of a continuing life are contained only by the fact that I have my wife, my loved one, to look after. If it were not for my beloved partner, and if she were not here, I do not really think I would want to stay around much longer. 

I should not feel comfortable with being isolated, but that isolation, in some ways, has been foisted upon us by Margo’s condition and by the fact that she does not really want to mix with others. That means that I have become very withdrawn, and for a while, I did not like that; however, I am used to it now. 

I am probably more comfortable in my own company with access to communication on social media.  I do not really have the inclination or the desire to go out. I often feel very inward and very down. I worry constantly about Margo and her situation. I wonder if I am doing the right thing by staying and not going out. Am I being selfish? Does she want to go out? Sometimes she says she does, and then we go out, but maybe I should ask her if she wants to. Questions, questions.

In truth, it would not worry me if circumstances were such that we never had to go outside the boundaries of our home and yard again.

Margo’s condition and the dementia confronting her mean that we cannot really watch anything on television that is imaginary. To her, it is scary. So we do not watch any drama programs.  The only outing on television, apart from current affairs episodes from the past, is ‘Dad’s Army’, which I have saved on our television set-top box and play one or two from time to time. 

Repetition does not seem to matter. I do not know whether the memories of past episodes really stick with Margo. They do with me, but I do not mind the repetition at all. It is good old-fashioned humour from the sixties, seventies, and nineties, and it appeals to me.

For news and current affairs, I pre-record so that if we come across anything while watching those recordings involving nasty incidents or horrible situations, I skip through it so that Margo does not have to think about the impacts of those things. It does not really hurt me to skip through them either. Our television watching, therefore, is very selective and sparse. 

We watch a fair bit of sport, but a guy never gets too heavy. I skip through those bits as well. 

Recently, we had Estelle our daughter from Nhulunbuy over here for the few days. That is good for Margo because she loves Estelle and indeed all members of our family.  Estelle is very empathetic and very understanding. 

We are not eating particularly well at the moment and do not really feel like it. I feel bad about that.

There was a time way back when I was frightened of dying. But as I have become older, that fear, that concern, and my worries about the life hereafter have dissipated. 

There are so many things I do not understand about life. It is all very confusing. And maybe not thinking too much in some respects avoids the confusion caused. I once thought too much, ovrly wondering about life beyond mortality. 

I am very glad that voluntary assisted dying is about to be passed back into law in the Northern Territory, but really wish that VAD covered aspects of demise that, at the moment, I totally avoid. How often I feel physical lifelessness because I seem to be lacking energy. My body does not respond to my mind. And therefore, I become languid. When that happens, I feel guilty because that must mean I am not looking after Margo as well as I should.

Mentally misshapen. It is just after 2 p.m. on Sunday, August the 2nd. I have done very little, it seems. I had a bright and very brief spark of positive thought. Had a bit of physical enthusiasm earlier today, which quickly faded, as it often does. And now I feel pretty much nothing. 

Again, I feel guilty about looking after Margo, and often feel enormously sad because of what dementia has done to her. I also get very angry because of the circumstances which contrived to extract her from reality into the world of dementia. For, in my opinion, they were almost totally to do with environment and overwhelming circumstances which impacted and began to come out within her from around March of 2022. 

I am saying this really quite ramblingly, that I really feel awful about how she has been undone, why there is such an awful disease, and also how it impacts upon a family as a whole. Where should I go? But wherever I do go, it will always be with my wife, who was the love of my life.

There is never a day when I do not cry inside for my wife. Sometimes those tears well up in my eyes, and I feel so sad. That is so awful. For what? 

Life has stuttered in recent years. I cannot help the melancholy and the gloom. At times like these, I cry. Let this one reflect her perceptions. What makes her feel that I love her any less? Indeed, I do love her more each day, and often reflect upon the times we have spent as a family in different places since Margot and I married in January 1969. Indeed, she was my friend long before we were married because they are the expression of life. 

I am glad today I am not dead because my wife, someone I love, is still alive. But should she predecease me, there would be little point in my prolonging my life.