When I'm Not Me...

I'm trapped in a mind that works normally half of the  time.

I see myself acting out-of-control.

I hear myself belittling the people I love most.

Comments they make in response to something I said

are translated as an attack causing the anger I express

to turn to a self-loathing psychosis,

unable to feel anything but rage.

Had this been six-months ago,

I wouldn't have acted this way,

or had I and there wasn't a name for yet;

never understanding that the behavior would only get worse?

The person that replaced the person I used to be

easily slips into place making it impossible

for my family to tell the difference.

After all, behavioral dementia doesn't change the way I look--

only the way I behave,

like a six-year-old sailor

in a fifty-two-year old body.

The old me is trapped in a mind that no longer

processes information in away that is socially acceptable,

only able to watch as the behavior worsens and

sanity dangles over the edge of a cliff.

Every time I lose it and lash out at my family,

my imprisoned self silently screams:

Don't fight back.

Don't take the bait.

Ignore the crazy person yelling at you.

Don't take it personal.

Just stay quiet when that person tells you to shut up."

My husband understands and remains

quiet--most of the time--letting the angry words

that spew out of the sewer that has become my vocabulary.

But my daughter can't.

She has to defend herself against the verbal abuse.

After all, she isn't wrong.

Her mom is acting crazy.

Unfortunately, it isn't her mom and she can't tell the difference.