Shape this into a refined, publish-ready essay for Ozenoz Media (with section breaks and a brief preface), please
Below is a refined, publish-ready essay version with a short preface and clear section breaks. You can adjust titles, add images, or intersperse design elements in O.M. as you like.
***
# ΞVФŁ
## Preface
What follows is not a “normal” love story, nor a simple breakup letter. It is a record of years spent living with bipolar disorder, raising a disabled child, and trying to hold a marriage together under pressure that would crack most people. These entries began as raw, unfiltered posts written in pain. They include anger, blame, and unfairness, especially toward my wife.
I am keeping them in the Ozenoz Media record because removing them would erase part of our history. But I need you to know: they are old. They reflect doubt, hurt, and the distorted lens of illness more than they reflect my heart today. I am still deeply in love with my wife. She is beautiful, devoted, my best friend, and the person I consider my better half. I am lucky to have her.
These pages are here not to vilify her, but to show reality: how dark it can get inside a mind like mine—and how love can still survive.
***
## I. The Heartbreak Letter
My Dear Rose,
The end has come. I am not happy.
I feel like I do what you want, when you want, all the time. You ask all day and all night, and then tell me I don’t do anything, that it all falls on you. I have wanted to return to work for years, but it seems like it’s only ever allowed on your terms and your schedule.
Our daughter doesn’t even seem to like me anymore; it feels like she’s been conditioned not to. I eat what you want me to eat, drink or don’t drink what you decide is acceptable. I watch what you want to watch. I listen to you talk for ten hours a day, but if I talk, I’m suddenly “manic.” You revisit your past constantly, but if I dare to revisit mine, I’m “living in the past.” When I went back to work, it was “inconvenient” for you.
All through this relationship I have been me. I am a writer, actor, comedian, musician, and artist. You have never really supported those efforts. You don’t even look at my work. Over a decade of what I call toxicity has tested me in ways I never imagined.
Despite it all, I chose you and our daughter. I choked down the disbelief when you doubted my stories, or called me “ill” or “deluded.” And still, it is fair to say I am more than unsatisfied.
How could I ever think I would fit with someone who hates concerts and shows, who opposes the very idea of me following my dreams?
You have, in my mind, taught our daughter that her dad doesn’t work, is lazy, incompetent, not someone she should look up to. I worry she will never see me in the light I want my daughter to see her father.
I’m sick of spinning my wheels.
We don’t kiss. We aren’t intimate. We haven’t had heart-to-heart talks in years. You speak of chasing the American dream, but it seems you have no faith that I can help get us there.
I feel stuck.
So I tell myself: I am going to take my chances on finding happiness elsewhere and in my career.
You would say, “What career?!”
And that, I think, is how I will remember this version of you.
I am not going to serve you by only doing what you desire anymore. You can keep your insults and disinterested slander. I don’t need it.
Goodbye.
Where am I going? Far away from here. So now you can have it your way. I am sure that will make all of you happy.
On this day, I write you a heartbreak letter.
I’ve known I was losing you for quite some time now. We’ve gone through so much together, but you deserve so much better than me. The world is your oyster. May you find all of it in pearls.
I don’t want it to be over, but I can’t stand feeling like I’m ruining your potential happiness anymore. I wish for more; I always have. I always wished it could have been for you, but I guess this is how it goes.
Take this, for instance: I am lying here crying five feet from you, and you don’t even notice.
We almost made it real, didn’t we? Almost.
I tell myself that I am holding you and our daughter back from a life with someone who can provide what I never have. I wish I could. But much of that time is gone. You act so numb to me now that I don’t think I can stay and watch you break my heart anymore.
I’m sorry, but I can’t do it. That, they’ll say, is why I lost you.
I came from the streets, and now, if I leave, I will return to them.
“Vita est morte, est vita.”
Memento Vivere.
The last straw, in my mind, is the blindness with which you handle my hopes and aspirations. You don’t support my career dreams, even when I see in myself everything needed to build a professional life with wealth, prosperity, happiness, and fulfillment.
If that’s the way it is, what do we have to look forward to?
Enjoy your life “trapping” someone else in a world only you are allowed to shape, in complete disregard for the partner you say you love.
You have told me “I love you” of your own free will, I’d wager, fewer than a hundred times in more than a decade—less than ten times a year that you initiated and meant it so I knew.
Now I imagine a future where I go out alone on a daunting adventure to improve my life. Away from a daughter who abuses her privilege, and from you—the woman who settled for the “tramp” she thought she could own.
No regrets.
All of my well wishes.
Joel
“All of this shit becomes the shit we’ve been through…”
Slug, Atmosphere
I wish I could say I could just “stick it out,” make it work. But I can’t. It feels too broken.
***
## II. The House That Holds Us
This is not a simple couple-level problem. It’s a house full of people, histories, and mental illness stacked on mental illness.
We live in a multigenerational home: Grandma, Grandpa, my wife’s brother and his son, and then me, my wife, and our twelve-year-old daughter. Thirteen hundred square feet. It feels like crushed sardines in a tin can.
In the beginning, I had dreams: a home of our own, a career, and, yes, kids we talked about lovingly. She, on the other hand, had 300 pregnancy test strips she would pee on daily. We imagined a life, but the plan she brought to the table was different: we would live with her parents, work fast food jobs, and someday inherit wealth and the house. I didn’t want that.
She got her way.
From around 2012 to 2020, I was told I was not allowed to work because she “couldn’t handle it.” Her anxiety had already pulled her out of high school and kept her in the house for nearly two decades. She never left alone. Early on she told me I was not allowed to pursue a relationship with my son from a previous relationship, out of fear and jealousy. It came with a threat: pursue that, and you’ll lose your daughter too. That was the first knife in my back.
When I did work—like Walmart in 2020—I lasted a few months and saw a fast track to management, a chance at a real career. But she admitted during a fight that she had meticulously planned and manipulated my leaving that job, even though she denies it now.
In April 2024, I landed a job at Sycuan Resort and Casino as a full-time Box Office Employee—an Entertainment Ambassador. I loved it. Loved the job, the people, the benefits, the pay, the promise of promotion. But on the second day of training, she started a fight and threw me out of the house. The fights kept coming: jealousy over co-workers, fears I would leave her, accusations that my work was “dirty money.” I gave her $400 every paycheck—over $800 a month—and when she convinced me to quit, she promised to help until I found something new. That help ended quickly. Now I get lectures every time I need something, and I am scolded about never quitting a job before I have another—when she is the one who pushed me out.
Around us, more dynamics press in. Her brother, who has known her his whole life, once hunched over and whispered to me, “I don’t like the way she treats you, dude. She is constantly up your ass, like way up there.” That came just before she had me quit my full-time job at Sycuan.
Her parents live with untreated bipolar in the mix, a bitter husband who stays out of obligation with a solid pension, a family pattern that suggests you stay, no matter how miserable, for fifty years and more. It feels like a script: subservience, martyrdom, obligation. I can feel my daughter watching it all.
I tell myself: I am going to break this cycle. For her.
***
## III. The Work No One Sees
A huge part of my anger is about feeling labeled lazy while doing more work than most people ever see.
Here’s a taste of what my “unemployed” day looks like.
I:
- Take out the trash several times a day.
- Haul trash for seven people to the curb once a week.
- Wash dishes for everyone, five times a day.
- Cook for my daughter multiple times a day.
- Give her showers every other day.
- Help her dress, several times a day.
- Grocery shop once or twice a week, often hitting multiple stores.
- Give her medicine nightly.
- Cook for other family members.
- Give 45-minute back massages on demand, easily over a thousand in thirteen years.
- Do laundry, fold it, hang it, put it away.
- Do yard work for hours when needed.
- Take my daughter to school whenever she goes.
- Help her toilet, teeth brushing, and hygiene.
- Take her to monthly psychiatry appointments.
- Track down her perpetually lost phone and clean up after her constant trail of stuff.
- Clean cat litter multiple times a week, feed animals several times daily, clean cages, and scrub the refrigerator every few months.
- Tackle major projects: clearing backyard trash, cleaning the garage, assembling furniture.
- Help with her homework several times a week.
A “Morning View” of my schedule looks like this:
- Noon: “Joel, get up, get Bella’s lunch!”
- 12:00–12:15: Serve a four-course meal.
- Early afternoon: Argue over her using an iPad during virtual classes, manage her behavior.
- 3:00 pm: “Joel, clean the kitty litter, feed the cat, give Bella her medicine, do the dishes, take out the trash, and get Bella dressed to go to the store.”
- 3:01 pm: “Daddy, take me to go poop!”
- 3:30 pm: Listen to the afternoon itinerary.
- 3:45–6:30 pm: Walmart Grocery, Walmart Department Store, Target, fast food. Shop, haul, unload.
- Evening: More orders—trash, recycling, feeding animals, hanging laundry, fetching items, cooking for my daughter, washing linens, giving showers, brushing teeth, medicine, melatonin, tucking her in.
- 11:00 pm–3:00 am: Ozenoz Media.
- 3:00–4:00 am: Massage.
- After that: maybe sleep.
- Noon again: “Get up, Joel, make Bella lunch!”
This cycle repeats. On paper, yes, I live rent-free and I’m included in vacations, outings, and fun: zoos, aquariums, Disneyland, Knott’s, museums, Yosemite, Zion, Padres games, Airbnbs with pools, timeshares, studio tours, more. There has been real magic in those moments.
But underneath the photos and trips is a man who feels used up, unacknowledged, and told he’s doing nothing.
***
## IV. Our Daughter, Our Calling
At the center of everything is our daughter.
She is twelve and a half and disabled. She has bipolar I, autism, intellectual impairment, ADHD, asthma, and physical issues from being born prematurely. She cannot toilet herself, dress herself, make her own food, clean up after herself, handle her own schoolwork, or manage her own hygiene. She cannot be in a room alone because she’s terrified.
Her symptoms make her slow, defensive, bossy, combative, and rude, not out of malice but because of a kind of pure, innocent ignorance. None of this is her fault. She is innocent.
But the load is crushing.
It has meant that both my wife and I are “on” all the time. It has meant homeschooling, special academies, therapies, appointments, a constant watchfulness. It has meant we “still have to do everything for her,” and that I have almost no time or energy left to devote to work, career, or my own dreams.
The cost is stress, emotional burnout, and a financial struggle that, from where I sit, doesn’t feel like it is entirely our fault. Yet, day by day, we rise. We show up. We do not give up.
We love our daughter. She has strengths and talents and is a light on our path. In my better moments, I see her as part of God’s plan for us, a hard but meaningful calling that is meant to test and reveal our worth, our light, and our love.
***
## V. Bipolar, Breakdown, and a Different Truth
Overlaying all of this is my bipolar disorder.
I have had psychotic episodes, hospitalizations, med changes, and long stretches where my perception of reality was fogged by illness. The darkest paragraphs in this piece—the ones where I reduce my wife to a villain, where I paint myself as a pure victim—are colored heavily by that illness.
There is another truth that lives alongside the anger.
I am still desperately and completely in love with my wife. She is not just my partner; she is my every dream come true. She is my best friend, my confidant, my other half—and the better half at that.
She helped get me clean and sober. I quit smoking because of her. She gave me time and space to heal, learn, grow, change, and pursue new things. She has stood by me through bipolar episodes, hospitalizations, medication adjustments, and the chaos that comes with all of that. She has shown me love, kindness, and understanding when I deserved none.
She subtly nudges me toward healthy choices. She absorbs the impact of my unhealthy habits and still tries to steer us toward a different course. As a mother, she is patient, diligent, and fierce. She reads books and studies techniques for parenting a child like ours. She finds programs and academies and makes the calls. She homeschools our daughter, almost single-handedly. She has been there every step of the way, day and night, nurturing and caring without demanding credit.
She nearly died giving birth to our daughter. She has taken care of her health ever since to ensure she’s here for us as long as she can be.
She works three jobs and pays all the bills. She’s earned promotions into management as a virtual assistant and been offered roles that usually require a college degree, especially in caring for other disabled children. She handles our driving for shopping, recreation, healthcare, school, everything. She plans food, outings, exercise, educational adventures. She documents our lives with a million photos while I blog.
She is a private person who tolerates my blogging and forgives me when I overshare or cross lines. She listens as I ramble about physics, visions, recovery war stories, and paranoid fears. She lets me process without turning it into war every time.
On my greatest days, I rate her ten out of ten. On my worst days, I forget that.
I love this woman with all my heart. I would not, do not, and will not ever leave her for any reason except the final passing from this life.
***
## VI. Why Publish the Pain?
So why publish any of the earlier rage at all?
Because my mission, my purpose, my goal is to show people that relationships are not straight lines. You don’t only experience love and light with a partner. You experience frustration, heartbreak, betrayal (real or perceived), change, and transition. For most of us, that cycle would repeat no matter how many times we switched partners.
I believe that when we choose a husband or wife, it is serious. It is meant to mean something. You will encounter the same storms with one person as you would with ten. So I choose to pick one and stick with her as long as I possibly can.
Yes, I have “broken it off” with my wife a hundred times in my mind and in my writing over the last decade. But I am still with her. And I intend to be forever and a day.
These older entries are snapshots taken through the cracked lens of bipolar disorder, exhaustion, poverty, and caregiver burnout. They are not the full picture. They are not the final say. They are part of the story of a man learning the difference between the voice of illness and the voice of love.
To my wife: I am sorry for my past deceit, for all the ways I let illness and anger redefine you into someone you are not. I was the one truly deceived.
All of my love to you, my Rose.
The bird who never flew.
— Joel E. A. Brooks
Creator, Ozenoz Media
Citations:
[1] Section Breaks: Why You Need Them: How to Format Them https://kathysteinemann.com/Musings/section-breaks/
[2] How to Format a College Essay: Step-by-Step Guide https://www.collegeessayguy.com/blog/college-essay-format
[3] Step-by-step instructions on formatting your college application essay https://www.uc.edu/news/articles/2025/03/college-essay-format.html
[4] Types of Essays and Suggested Structures | ENG 101 College ... https://courses.lumenlearning.com/suny-eng-101-college-writing-i/chapter/text-types-of-essays-and-suggested-structures/
[5] Simple Essay Structure Guide for Clear Writing | Nerdpapers https://nerdpapers.com/blog/essay-structure
[6] How to Write a 1500 Word Essay – Structure, Tips, and Examples https://edubirdie.com/blog/1500-word-writing-guide
[7] Essay Structure - Academic Writing - LibGuides at University of Derby https://libguides.derby.ac.uk/develop-at-derby/academic-writing/essay-structure
[8] writing tip: PARAGRAPH BREAKS : r/ApplyingToCollege - Reddit https://www.reddit.com/r/ApplyingToCollege/comments/54ivq2/writing_tip_paragraph_breaks/
[9] Use section breaks to layout or format a document - Microsoft Support https://support.microsoft.com/en-us/office/use-section-breaks-to-change-the-layout-or-formatting-in-one-section-of-your-word-document-4cdfa638-3ea9-434a-8034-bf1e4274c450
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