I haven’t written for quite a while because I’ve been struggling to write my thoughts. I’ve been dealing with the fact that my siblings rarely listen or even ask questions about how I am coping with caring for their mum. Apparently their lives are too busy. In truth, I think they don’t want to hear the truth about how things are. If I talk about my struggles as mums full time carer and how that impacts my mental health I more often than not get excuses, meaningless words or white noise. There’s not a lot I can do about that. Of course I have my husband and daughter who always support me but I get pissed that it always falls on them to cut me some slack. So I have stopped bothering with people who have their ears wide shut.
I can’t say I am ‘good’ or ‘happy’. I pretty much just plod along and at rare times I get an opportunity to have some freedom for a half day or a full day and then I feel happy. Happy that I don’t have to think about anything else other than the present moment. I don’t however get any alone time out of the house with my own husband and an intense rage has been bottling inside me.
Anxiety has become an unwelcome permanent resident in my life and it’s exhausting. I have attributed this turn for the worse as a result of my carer role where there does not seem to be a light at the end of the tunnel. I am quite the recluse nowadays and struggle to answer the door and never answer unknown phone calls.
Thankfully, I have not had severe mania for months now – but have had plenty of hypomania. Even my anger has taken a small step back for the last few months. Depression has been in residence for quite a long time but it’s been mild to moderate. I’m used to the depression, even the bone numbing episodes don’t seem to spiral me down as far as they used to. Perhaps because I accept the episodes and let them run the course. Or perhaps I have just built some resistance. Who knows – all I know is that I am suicidal much less now. Yes, I realise I wrote ‘much less’ rather than ‘not at all’ because that is the truth.
In my last full blown manic episode last year I signed my daughter and myself up for some running events. The only hitch is that neither of us were runners. Yep booked accommodation too to make it a full on major event. Go me! So instead of trying to undo all that ‘damage’ we decided well why not have a go? So we have been running (and I use that term loosely) for four months now. I even did my first 5km Parkrun three weeks ago. So we are plodding away and trying to fit in some run sessions in between her work schedule, my carer role and her motherhood role. So hey at least the last shot of mania resulted in something ‘healthy’.
I am stuck with feeling resentful of the people with their ears wide shut. I feel like an only child when it comes to my mum. My entire life has been sucked dry from caring for her full time. Yes I resent it. No I am not grateful for this precious time – so sick of hearing that bullshit from people who are not having to take the role on. I can say with great confidence that when death relieves me from my carer duties, I will not be pursuing the sibling relationships. What’s there to pursue after all?