Reset (Trigger Warning)

I have hit the reset button on every relationship in my life at least once.  Everyone goes through periods where they reevaluate things, forgive things, or decide that people aren’t worth their time. It’s a part of nature, and that part is supposedly what keeps our world in motion. That supposition is crap of course. I gave my mother another chance out of desperation. She came through just enough for me to get my hopes up that maybe things had changed.

My bad. No, really it is her bad. I know she could find this and read it. Hell she has given clues she has read my blog. Maybe this was a form of punishment for it? I am tired, I am in so much pain, I am barely sleeping again, and I am still without my bed. My bed isn’t a luxury, it is a necessity. I know that sleeping on the waterbed increases my health because I actually sleep. Right now I am sleeping on a broken couch.

I have been moved for almost two weeks, and still no bed. Why? Because she argued with my older sister, so I receive the punishment from them both. Why? Because I come in second or third or tenth place to a lamb. I understand that other people’s wants and needs are important, I have spent my life dedicated to fulfilling their wants and needs at the expense of mine. I have sacrificed and bled for these same people. I try so hard to expect nothing because when I do get something there is a price.

First they damaged the waterbed wood. Flat pieces of wood shouldn’t have big holes in them when moved unless they are mishandled. That is not fixed yet. Then they cut my HOSE. If I want my bed filled I have to buy another. So I’ll have two hoses, one in two parts. It’s just MY Hose so why bother respecting that? Sure it could be repaired, but only if I can do it myself and I cannot.

The awkardness I feel when speaking to my mother is returned too. The knowing that neither of us is able to say what we want. I feel like I lie when I say I love her. I do love her, but it feels like I am saying it just so she may do what I need and not what she wants for me. I wonder if she wants me to just suffer? What did I do that was so bad? Compared to her I’ve had more successful relationships. Is that what I did wrong? I only married one abuser? Even my latest Step Father turned out to be a rotted fruit on the tree of life.

I want her safe, I told her if she needs to flee him to come to my home, I could make it work. How? Well I expected I would have a bed, so that my couch could sleep two, then there’s the air mattress that can be duct taped, and a third air mattress that also needs some repair. It’s still something. I cannot use the air mattresses, as I cannot get up off of the floor. I know now my ability to sleep at all thus far has been the exhaustion of months of struggle. I am worn out emotionally, physically and mentally but it is never enough.

My pain is being used as a punishment against me for the actions of others. I regret even needing help. If I could have moved without my mother? I would have. If I could tell her to go to hell and know that someone innocent wouldn’t suffer, I would. I instead must risk poisoning my spirit and heart by contact to protect those that still retain their innocence. Innocence I haven’t had for so long that it ages me.

Taking a picture of the cats sitting on me revealed my pain to a friend, I was hiding it but he can see it in my eyes. I can hide so much from the world, but my pain is overflowing. I try to give it less space, yet gas under pressure explodes and I have been under pressure for a long time. The solution to my bed problem is not simple. The screws were lost. Of course they were. The broken wood must be repaired. That costs money. I don’t have it. Again I come up against a world of need. I have tried to keep everything I own and NEED in one piece. I am falling apart at the seams myself, can’t I just have a single night of rest?

I am complaining again. If I don’t let this out then I won’t be able to stop crying. To breathe is pain. To think is pain. To open my eyes is pain. To move is pain. I am alone today as well. My caregiver thinks she has the swine flu, so until she sees a doctor I am alone. Again the urge to fire her so I can have someone reliable rears it’s head but I know this is an over reaction. One day alone won’t kill me right? Well it may but I have longed for solitude for a long time. There is a difference between alone and lonely.

I am trying to reset my pain, my thoughts and yet with my mother the reset brings out the poison. Have fun in Roswell. I said it. What I felt was instead have fun in Roswell with the lamb, while you betray me again. This is the smallest betrayal of my life and it seems the most painful. My body cannot take anything else but I have to push. I already broke again and again. I don’t think I can push anymore.

All the joy I had at being home and safe, at being able to go outside is gone. How can I go outside if breathing leaves me in tears because the couch dislocates EVERYTHING. How can I sleep if the couch stabs me because it broke and I had to put wood under it, which adds pressure. I am not sure what to do. I think I have to do this myself and it is not possible. I am not strong enough. I just want to reset this move. I want to go back to the start and change the way the bed went. I would lose the trust of my sister but my pain makes me selfish.

That’s what is being said to me when I ask. I am selfish for wanting my bed. I am selfish for asking. I am selfish for needing. I am selfish. I know it’s true. it is selfish for me to expect people to give up their time and spend an hour here to give me what I need. Selfish isn’t bad in this case. It cannot be, when my health is degrading. I am not sure I can ever recover emotionally from this betrayal, I was already weak and vulnerable and past my limit. My mother said it herself. There is no reset.

Why You Can Never Thank Your Caregiver Enough…

Once upon a time, in a land not so far from here, when my legs worked without pain and I could dance I did not need any help in the world. I was blissfully unaware of how much harder things could be. Now, when I am hungry I have to debate if I should risk trying to microwave that bag of popped corn, or if I should hit the buzzer (obtained via Freecycle) and ask Ye Olde Caregiver to feed me. Usually it is the latter. The apartment is not accessible and that means hauling myself out of bed and to the kitchen. By the time popped corn is ready, I am out cold.

Yesterday he wasn’t here and being that I have yet to really buy groceries in the new apartment, I had to fend for myself. It has been six months since that was the case, and at first I was stumped. I couldn’t cook, standing and cooking is too dangerous and the chairs make me burn my arms up, which leads down the road of scars and infection.  In my fridge there were a total of three options. Beans, a rare blend with cheese and some secret but gluten free sauce courtesy of Del Taco, eggs, and a lot of drinks. So I piled the beans on a paper plate, put it in the microwave and had myself a feast.

That got me thinking, and first I asked permission before writing about him on the blog, that my caregiver takes a lot of crap, just by default. When we go out he fends for me, when I cannot reach something or if I am so low on energy that I do not see the predators coming. he is a shoulder to cry on when my pain meds fail to make it all better. He fights for me, he cooks for me, he moves me around the world, and he even helps me get in and out of the shower.

Without him, I would likely be trapped in an abusive environment. Someday I will list all of the abuses I have dealt with, but, this is a joy. Yes he is a paid caregiver, yet he works four times as much as he gets paid for. Not only does the state refuse to offer overtime, but, I cannot seem to get an extension on his hours. He deserves to get paid, as he does duties not listed by most. He even cleans out the dreaded litterbox.

Some people might wonder why a woman with such a dark past would want a male caregiver. I initially was resistant but he is the right man for the job. Not only can I trust him but my personality detecting cats both adore him as well. I have never felt endangered by him, and that is not true of anyone else in my life. If you have a caregiver or a service animal, how much do they do for you that goes unseen?

Sometimes when I am napping and kick the covers off, he tucks me back in without waking me. He feeds my cats, he even helps them get dressed when my hands are too swollen to work the velcro. He finds my missing pills when the faeries hide them (or I lose them). He does anything I ask of him, including running around town picking up furniture via freecycle. Today he has picked up a couch, a bookshelf, and a desk. I now have actual furniture, which he will dust. Yesterday he moved a TV into my room, cleaned up cat barf, and did laundry. Plus his daily chores which include three meals a day, two meals for the cats, and anything else I can dream up.

He even invents things for me. He is a technological wiz, and he enjoys making things. His hobbies include making games, that’s right, video games and woodworking. I have yet to run into anything he cannot fix or improve. He is one of the dearest people I know.

So thank you to all caregivers. Without you the world would be a dreadful place full of hunger, pain, and without the light you bring. May you never be taken for granted.

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