Betrayal, Sorrow, and Rage: Things I Do Not Understand (Trigger Warning)

It seems that since my carer was fired this afternoon the little things that went undone or should not have been done are still building up. Trash on my doorstep, which I expect to be strewn thoroughly by the stray cats, my juice down in the raw meat drawer of my refrigerator where it has been with raw meat for a while. A neighbor helped me get a box of yoghurt off of the bottom shelf and there it sat, hidden from view, beneath a pane of glass in what appears to be a puddle of meat juice.

I have had a hell in me for the last few days and yet now that I do not feel endangered, a feeling I couldn’t clearly identify because I wrote it off as my being paranoid, I feel oddly empty. The rage is still there but the degree of heat is down, it’s simmering in my lower back where the pain never fades. The music is helping, as is the fact that my specific flavor of metal is the Elegy disc by Leaves’ Eyes, who doesn’t like viking Symphonic Gothic Metal? Yeah… they took their norse heritage and the Edda and twisted into something that suits my ears nicely.

I felt desperate earlier, and this entire time I have been trying to give her a second chance, I felt… off. It has effected a good deal, including my comfort level with being identified as a nice person. I dislike the aspect of betrayal that nters into any caregiving situation where the caregiver turns out to think that not only am I required to say please and thank you, but that they cannot say they are unhappy in the pairing when it is policy, if you aren’t happy say so! The little jibes that came, the attempts to hurt me? They worked.

To need care is one thing. Most of us could actually benefit from a bit of care in our lives. To admit that you need care is another. To let a stranger into your life, your home, and to see you at your most vulnerable is wholly a third. The aching sorrow that stabs into the darkness that seems right for my soul, it is a bright light like a silver blade under the scales of a dragon. This sorrow comes before I even realize it, it steals my breath, and I want nothing more than to be independant.

I think that moment when I feel the need to assert my dominance in my home is a sign things aren’t okay. I am having to learn what to look at. I did say something well before today’s incident. I did. I also was listened to but there are laws for both her and I. I do not want her to lose all livelihood, but that is something she should have thought of before trying to feed me raw meat. That is something she should have thought of before LYING.

I don’t know what makes a lie something that flares my temper so, but, if there is one thing that can make me lose my temper, it is knowing I was lied to. I have managed to not do foolish things in my anger for a while now but that does not mean it is not there sizzling beneath my skin while I try and root out the truth that a betrayer does not seem to value. A little white lie? Welcome to job hunting.

The lies weren’t little. They were also a smudgey grey color with dots of snot green. Very icky lies. I won’t go into details here, because I already did elsewhere but why bother lying? Then again, I didn’t believe she was sick when she called in, but was hung over after the fourth anyway. She didn’t call me but seemed outright nervous afterwards, flinching when I said I am glad she feels better. Is that not the right thing to say when you are glad someone isn’t sick? Ah well. I don’t think my idea of logic or sense was near hers at all.

To me things that are simple to know were shocking to her. Cat venom exists in her reality where as in mine I know that retractable claws don’t work the same as fangs, which don’t actually retract but lie flat in a snake’s mouth until the mouth is opened via a sort of internal pulley system. They aren’t the same at all. She certainly thought the song Cat scratch fever was imperical evidence that cats have venom and will infect you. I found this out when Nymph sank her claws into me on her second day here. She asked me if I was worried about the cat venom.

That was just an example of her conversational style, I am fairly sure she meant this literally but if not she spent a lot of time on a personae of unintelligent blather. There’s nothing wrong with that, and there are things she did know. It was merely that once a day she asserted something like cat venom. I tried to not let that bother me but it did. It worried me, because if she thinks cats have venom or the other things stated, how is she going to ever graduate college and achieve her dreams? Of course I want her to achieve her dreams, I want all people to.

So there it sits. I am leaving out the gorey details, because the people who need them have them. The things that really devestated me internally. I am once more proud that I did not cry over this. That also makes me sad. I feel as if I should turn away and hide myself. As if I should try and live on my own for a while.

Sense and instinct are clashing. Sense tells me that if every time I get my own food I break things, spreading glass around my house then I must NOT go without a caregiver. Instinct, or perhaps something base and fearful in the mask of instinct, tells me the next one will just be another failure and that it would be best to not get attached. IT would be best to not hope.

I am trying to shut that voice up. That voice started before my first caregiver, and with the bad ones gets a little louder but with a few has gone away. I wasn’t right for them. That’s different and I am okay with that. I know that voice is really the voice of a terrified little girl waiting for her father to force his way into her bedroom, to hurt her where she is most vulnerable. That little girl who fears everything and everyone, and wants to be isolated beyond what is comfortable. That little girl that never will grow up, but cannot reign over the adult. I mourn her pain. I mourn my pain.

I know the little wounded child in me is wrong, and that being alone will mean I just starve to death. I know that I will wake up in the morning, I will get things done with the temp and wait for Monday. Then I will meet another potential caregiver, I will move on.

Even tonight, I will merely take the step forward to do what I need to do. There is no point in anything else, there is no point in waiting for the sorrow to eat at me but I can try and let it go. I won’t forget, I probably won’t forgive because I don’t think I could unless I thought she didn’t actually mean it. I will try and let go. That’s not the same. It will take me a month I think, that’s my usual, to stop playing the moment when I nearly lost my temper out in my head.

The moments. I didn’t get a real dinner last night because of her lies. Today she asks me if I ate. I almost screamed at her. I couldn’t hide my frustration. She asks what is wrong. I say I don’t want to talk about it and lets just have a day. She pushes at me, picks at me for fifteen minutes. “Not telling me makes this a hostile work environment.” My temper almost escapes again, I consider seriously squirting her with the cat squirt gun and telling her she’s bad and wrong and disgusting. I instead lift my phone and say, “Okay you can go home then.” She says never mind. I turn on music loudly.

She lasts a whole hour and a half before she nearly wins out. I think she wants me to yell. She seems to be enjoying pushing buttons. It’s in the facial expressions, it’s in the raw meat she called a cooked hamburger. I think these doubts are over reactions at first until she huffs at me for asking her to microwave the burgers for three minutes. That cooked them, nearly burned them. I couldn’t let go of the rage. I was so very hungry, so why couldn’t I get real food from her? Why couldn’t I have my needs met? That takes less time. I picked up the phone again, told her the time, and I said “You can go home now.” The little smile, it bothers me. Why smile when you are clearly not going to be allowed back to work?

“Fine.” Out she went. I spent the next few hours making sure things weren’t going to lead to me starving all weekend. They won’t. I will be okay. I will have enchiladas and spaghetti I think. Not sure yet but that sounds like a delicious weekend to me. I will face the next set of demons that I know comes afte rnot eating. The urge to eat or not eat, I am not sure which will be out of proportion but I am prepared. I was already after I didn’t get food last night. Peanutbutter Bowl is not dinner. It’s snack. Peanutbutter and jelly without bread in a bowl. It is also quite gross. Protein however lasts longer than carbs so it worked better to fuel me.

In the last hours all the things that she said and did were rehashed, each thing that I see as wrong shared, and documented. The previous documentation was pulled forward. I haven’t documented something or someone this much in a while, not since I had to fight to get handrails in my bathroom. The time that is unaccounted for bothers me the most, as do the whispers of my neighbors. Her racist accusations almost had me fire her last week out of a want to protect my neighbor yet she is a behind the back racist, which feels worse to me but will not directly effect my friend as I will not have her around him.

I wish this was the worst caregiving experience I have had. It’s very bad. Top three. She just comes under K and HIM… I doubt anyone will ever surpass him in the horror department. For that I am grateful. There is nothing left for me to say that should be said in a public space but, I will be okay. I will mourn, I will sorrow. I will remember this betrayal.

I will unlock my door in the morning, I will look to the sunny or cloudy sky, I will know that the future rises with the sunset, and the dawn brings something new for me to live with.


  1. I’m sorry to know that you keep running into poor, abusive caregivers. I wish I knew a simple solution for the problem.

  2. I think there is something going on with this, beyond myself. At first I was sure it was all in my head. Each time. The others that weren’t working out for other reasons however, helped me get past that. Maybe they are untried and don’t know how difficult caregiving is especially with a “higher need” level as I have. It’s in quotes because I don’t know about that, the clients I caregave for before had more needs than I do. Or were more needy?

    Maybe with this economy people are trying out caregiving out of desperation, and when it is not easy money things aren’t working out for me or them. I found myself saying What if so and so hadn’t done X a lot this week. I do feel much better today, which is also a sign that it was time to get rid of L. I also know that the things that had the others removed would’ve happened at a later time or something else would have.

    I interview another candidate on Monday and from what I am told she seems to be really well suited for dealing with my special needs (food oriented) and the other needs too. My food is actually a big contributing factor in who we can hire, because there are restrictions for the carer on what they can eat before they come in. I loathe that need because it feels wrong to me but dying would also be a very bad thing.

  3. Cat venom?! What is it with some people? I’d laugh if it weren’t so sad.

    Your food requirements etc don’t sound too problematic. There must be someone out there with a working brain and a bucket of empathy who will be a good fit. Here’s hoping.

  4. This is truly horrible. I’m hoping the interview on Monday goes well. Meanwhile, do you accept e-hugs? A huge bucketload of e-hugs are coming your way if you do.

Comments RSS TrackBack Identifier URI

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

  • Polls

  • Ye Olde Archives of Fury

  • Top Rated

  • Top Clicks

    • None