Every day, I get up and come out here, and every day, I hate it a little bit more. Considering how much I already hate it, that's a fuckton of hate. The longer this goes on, the more I just want to say "I don't give a shit" and walk. It was bad enough when I was here to help Ray. I got tired, very quickly, of him and whatnot. As the jobs started piling up, I cracked a little more...and more...and more.
Ever see these movies with a character that just doesn't get it? They have money and power, perhaps, and they have NO social grace? They'll say anything to anyone, and everyone just looks at them, disgusted, but no one says anything because they know he won't listen? He drones on and on about his pet subject or his opinions, never stopping to realize that others may not want to hear or might have their own feelings which are being stepped on or just plain think it's boring. That's kinda what a day with Ray is like, in an audio sense. It's loud and monotonous, and you constantly want to tell him to shut up but you know he won't. He talks over you, he tells you the same thing 18 times, and he doesn't give a shit about what you might think, feel, or enjoy, because his thoughts are all that matter to him. Saddest part is that he doesn't do it maliciously; he's not doing it to belittle you, he just doesn't stop to think, even for a second, about whatever he's saying. All this, of course, while he has the TV up to it's maximum volume, because he can't hear, but doesn't wear the headphones set up just for him.
Now, physically. What was never really expressed to me was that this job was apparently going to mean not only doing whatever whim came to Ray's mind, but doing every other damn thing around the house. Keep in mind that Crystel (Di's sister), her son Brandon and his girl Katie, and family friend Amanda and her man James all live within, oh, 60 feet of the house. With this in mind, why is it me that does everything, here? I have to get wood, I have to chop kindling, I have to wash dishes, I have to schlep things around, I have to walk down to the shop and back, I have to burn garbage, I had to feed the chickens (which are now, thankfully, gone), and on and on and on. When the power circuit was funny, I had to crawl around under the house. When the water was messed up, I had to deal with the well house. Ray wants more wine, so I have to make the wine.
This is on top of the "real" job. I have to make food. I have to stoke the fire. I have to fix the TV when he fucks it up. I have to dress him. I have to lay out his pills. He gets some new cushion, I have to figure out how it works. I have to deal with his therapists and doctors. I have to rinse out the urine bags from overnight. I have to get him in and out of bed/chair/shower/toilet. I have to wipe his ass. I have to clean up his mess. I have to hear him whine on and on and on and over and over and over about his pain. I have to make sure he stands. I am responsible for his exercise. I'm responsible for stretching him out. I'm NOW responsible for walking with him. God damn it, I'm not a physical therapist, when did I become responsible for his therapy?
My sleep is for shit. My back hurts. My shoulder, never in the best condition, is is constant pain from this crapola. I'm stuck caring for a twenty-tear-old car that likes to occasionally stall for no reason. I've given up everything to do this, and not because I wanted to. Hey, do you hear me, this fucking sucks dead donkey dick. My life was great, it was a wonderful thing and I was basically a happy guy. These days, I'm angry and depressed all the time. I don't want to go to bed because I feel like I've had so little time of my own, when I do go to bed I don't sleep well, and I wake up thinking " oh no, not again." What little time I do get is now taken up doing the things I used to have time to do, and if I take any time for myself, I feel like I'm not being fair to my family, but if I don't, I feel like I've been robbed and cheated. My mood has suffered, but I don't have time to do anything about it, because my days are completely filled.
I spend my time feeling like I've been lied to and cheated. I'm doing this all and getting paid blessed little, and a third of that pay is going right back into my gas tank to get back and forth from home every day, plus all the driving clear across the city for doctor and therapy appointments.I'm getting almost nothing out of this except heartache...and things aren't getting any better. In fact, with the news I got yesterday about how long it's probably going to be before he's walking, etc., it's getting worse.
I'm completely fucking tired of this. I'm tired of being responsible for this man's...well, everything. No one else helps much, and no one else seems to want to. "Oh, talk to someone." people say, "there's support groups that can help, and resources for you." Bull-fucking-shit. In the end, no matter what support group, no matter what resource, it's still a huge fucking burden on my shoulders that no one is lifting. In the end, I still have to come out here, day after day, and be responsible for all this, and no matter how noble someone says I am for doing this, no matter what a great thing people claim what I am doing is, NO MATTER WHAT, it's still something I DO NOT WANT TO BE DOING.
I hate my life. I do not say this lightly.