I’m having one of those
days weeks where I’m feeling overwhelmed. I’m beyond exhausted, hormonal, feeling extra poorly and am, quite frankly, just plain fed up. It’s been coming on for several weeks and, despite knowing I’m doing too much, am stressed, not sleeping and my health is suffering, I’ve felt powerless to stop the train.
My stay-cation, which started Saturday morning, has felt like anything but a holiday. Last week I had meant to get on top of my laundry and stock up my freezer with food so that I wouldn’t have to do any chores, but was so busy with my parents that didn’t happen, so I spent most of the first day of my vacation cooking and washing. I also found out that a friend in the village had dropped down dead from a brain hemorrhage the day before at the age of 43, which was devastating.
Sunday I spent the entire day putting together a five page objection to the plans to build 10 houses on a field next to my home. Planning objections have to be based on law and material facts about which I know nothing, so it literally took 7 hours of Googling and writing and re-writing and checking my facts to do the submission which had to be handed in by Wednesday.
Monday the Yale engineer was coming to my parents’ house about the lock, so I had to be there to see to him as my parents simply can’t cope. While I was waiting for him to arrive I made them some mushroom soup to go in the freezer and did some paperwork. I then went into town to have new keys cut for the new lock, then walked the dog, went to see my neighbour with the cancer’s daughter to check how she was doing and finally got home, on my knees with exhaustion, at 4pm.
Tuesday my parents, 2 neighbours, myself and the dog had arranged to go up the Lakes for lunch which sounds lovely but was hard work. I’d woken that morning with a stonking bad head which never let up all day but I still had to get Mum out of the house and into the car, do all the driving, get Mum out of the car and into her wheelchair (in the pissing rain and howling gale courtesy of Storm Ophelia) and seated at the hotel, take her to the loo mid-meal (which meant mine went cold), get her back in the car, back into the house, her shoes off and her slippers on, a brew made for them both and all the while keeping an eye on my Dad and looking after the dog who then had to be walked (in the storm) on the way home. That night I had a small seizure/mast cell reaction and knew that if something doesn’t change, and soon, my health could get seriously scary.
Weds I woke at 6am feeling so MEish I felt like I’d been run over by a bus. There was a mix-up with my dog walkers (one of whom is also my cleaner) and both turned up at 9am. So the actual dog walker took Bertie while the cleaner sayed on to clean the house, which was due to be done that afternoon. Usually I spend an hour tidying up before she gets here but of course I wasn’t expecting her and the place looked like I’d been burgled, so instead of crawling back into bed which is what I needed to do I started to sort the house out (she can’t clean if there are 20 dirty dishes on the kitchen worktops, photos spread out on the lounge room carpet and no fresh sheets to put on the bed). That night was camera club and there was a hand-in for our first print competition, so I also had three A3 size photos to print off and mount. Then I walked the dog, did the Tesco shopping for myself and my parents, had something to eat, got changed and before I knew it it was 6pm and time to leave for town. I seriously felt like road kill and have absolutely no recollection of the drive home.
It’s now 5 days in to my hols and today is the first day I have been able to spend the morning in my pjs in bed resting (well, inbetween putting my groceries away which were delivered at 9am, making my lunch, taking the dog out, making my dinner and tidying up afterwards).
I feel hard done by and want to shout to the world DO YOU KNOW HOW HARD MY FUCKING LIFE IS????? not that anyone would care.
Being sick is a thankless task and no-one realizes how difficult our days are, not just physically but mentally and emotionally. Being a Carer is also a thankless task and no-one realizes just how much stress and work is involved in looking after a sick relative and their home. The two together just feels like too much some days.
I feel like I should be apologising for being miserable lately, then get angry at myself for thinking like that. I’m bloody well entitled to feel however I feel and shouldn’t feel pressured into pretending to be perky and upbeat every second of every day. Yes my life could be harder (and has been). I could still be totally bedridden, I could be begging on the streets in India or living in war torn Syria, but just because I’m not doesn’t make my situation any easier to cope with — not just at the moment anyhow. I honestly think if just one more thing goes wrong or gets added to my plate it will be the straw that breaks the camel’s back and I’ll just collapse in a heap on the kitchen floor sobbing snotty tears onto the lino.
I need a break. A proper break. Away from the dog, my home and my parents. Somewhere pretty and tranquil and restful (not a hotel full of 100 other boisterous guests). But I can’t afford one and even if I could who would have Bertie? Wherever I was I’d still have to drive to get there, cook (as eating out every day for a fortnight would cause me all sorts of histamine nightmares) and I’d still have to do laundry as I don’t possess 14 pairs of undies or socks. So even going away somewhere seems like hard work and not really worth the effort. I feel alarmingly trapped in a situation from which it seems there is no rest or reprieve.
I know that if I get the chance to properly rest and my hormones settle down from their current warp 10 status I’ll get my umpf back, but today I just feel like a rat on a treadmill and my little legs are tired.