*Warning- the following post is miserable, feel free to skip this one if you’re already having a tough time.*
Did you know you can get a rash under your eyes from crying? I didn’t. I’ve been bawling my eyes out for over a week. Crying, caring and working; sometimes all three at the same time in my ever-efficient style. Thankfully, my under eye redness isn’t visible on work video calls and grandma’s vision is too poor to make out my red, swollen face.
I had to cancel a long-planned trip because my care cover fell apart and it has been the straw that’s broken my already-broken back (I fell off a horse when I was a teenager – long story). March also marks five years since I became an accidental carer. This double whammy has completely defeated me. I’ve sunk into the depths of despair. I’ve been alone in this dark tunnel for five years and there is no light in sight, just more fucking tunnel. It is getting narrower with more twists and turns too.
Why don’t you plan another trip? I hear the not-yet-carers ask. I can hear the carers’ laughs/sighs from here.
If only it were that simple. I live with a 100-year-old in heart failure and I work full time – I can’t plan ahead by a week. And even if I could, who is going to look after her? You wanna come and do that, dear reader? No? I didn’t think so. I won’t be able to go anywhere anytime soon, I don’t have anyone to go with anyway. Thinking about it is just holding on to false hope and the only person it hurts is me.
I feel like I’m wasting my life – it has certainly been true for the last five years. Caring has taken everything from me apart from my job, and I’m lucky that I’ve been able to hold on to that. When you’re a carer, the sadness you experience is unassailable, the virtual well-meaning sympathy I get from the few friends who haven’t left me yet, is sweet but I’m too depressed to be able to receive it. They probably don’t know what to say to me either, to be fair. Only carers can understand and comfort other carers which contributes to the already-crushing isolation.
I can’t cope anymore, it’s all too much. I can’t do it.
Except of course, I do. I care and I work, through the tears and the depression where everything is dimmed and takes a huge effort. Maybe I’ll bounce back, maybe I won’t, but for the moment – I’m beaten.