Member-only story
Three Months and Counting
Writing my way through grief
Have you ever felt like you are the most horrible human on the planet? I feel like that every day. Every day that I leave home to go to work, to go grocery shopping, to go eat…any time I leave to do anything other than care for my disabled brother.
He can’t do anything for himself. He can’t leave the house. He can’t see. He can’t read or watch tv. His hearing is distorted. He has zero quality of life. And yet, I leave. I go on vacation. I go out to eat. I go anywhere to try to enjoy life and forget that he has nothing, and to smother the guilt that grows in my heart.
Caregiver burnout.
I am not even his fulltime caregiver. I am just a helper, and I can’t handle it. The frustration, depression, anger, guilt, rage…sometimes it’s just too much.
I am horrible. Here I am pouring out my emotions from the perch of a margarita buzz, and brother is lying in bed unable to enjoy anything.
I wrote those words in September, and there they sat in draft mode until now. I hadn’t forgotten about them or abandoned them. No, it was much worse. The people I care for kept getting worse, more sick, more broken, more doctors, more medications, more of my time and attention.
