Where are you, Scotty?

The number of times I've half jokingly looked at my wrist for the comunicator device, so I can shout,
"Beam me up, Scotty!"

Only half jokingly, as the other half is in desperation, a cry for help, support, an escape from a situation so tied up, complicated and interwoven with emotions, considerations, duty, and despair that it's unbearable. Literally unbearable. It's funny how words can get overused, hackneyed, and lose their impact. But the words are still correct in the right context - literally too much to bear, cope with, endure.

And where was Scotty all those times? Nowhere of course, he's not real, a fictional saviour.

She doesn't want to talk to me, to burden me when I have so much to do. She doesn't feel she can talk to her dad - he won't understand, over-react, get the wrong end of the stick, hear only part of the tale and focus on that, missing the whole point. Or he'll get upset, hurt, turn it on himself. Her sisters will worry, get anxious, and she doesn't want to hurt them either. But the crisis team don't know her, don't have her history. She doesn't want to go over it all, how long will that take, and she needs help now, this minute. Not after a long and exhausting updating session from her, to put them in the picture. She needs just constructive, useful, thoughtful suggestions, tips, a hand. But the crisis team can't do that. And her team are off having their Saturday family barbeques, off for the weekend, work can wait till Monday. For them at least. For them.

So she does talk to me, in the end. She knows I need it too, to help stop the concern that she can see behind my weak attempt at relaxed calm. But she can't say it all, just tries to say enough, so we go round the houses again and again. For hours. Back round again. What does she want? What could they do? What if it wasn't like this? What if they weren't going to react like that? If she could have anything, what would it be? How can we "put a pin in it" so that she can have a break? How is it they can't see how she'd be affected like this? How could they have had a meeting like that on a Friday, knowing she'd be hanging all weekend? How can they think it's ok?
Round and round again.

Where is Scotty?

Now I'm frustrated that the dog barks loudly in her presence. And my youngest compliments my bad singing to my mp3 player. And suddenly she's off to her room - is she ok? Is she worse? Will she actually start throwing stuff about, like she thinks she needs to do to get the help she wants? Will she harm herself again? Will she be under the covers again, as she was at the start - 7 hours ago?

I sneak upstairs and hear crashing around. When I go in, she's wearing a floaty dress, a cosy jumper, is grabbing a net curtain and a box of candles, and heading for the garden.

Her patient boyfriend tells me later, that she said,

"They must think I've had an idea, a plan." But she's just lighting candles in the garden, sitting on the curtain. He's with her now, and I can turn back to my work for the moment. She's decided not to go to the party, and that's as far as it's got. Not sure if she's planning to take her meds tonight, but she's here, and calmer. But I can't work yet. So I write this instead. Trying desperately to get my head back onto the task of catching up on my work.

That's when I realise. Only she can really help herself. Mental problems can't be solved or fixed by others. They can only guide us in a direction that you might find helpful, like putting a rope in your way in the dark, knowing that if you grab it, you can pull yourself up. We are all our own Scotty.

That might fill us with despair, when things feel impossible and we feel small and unable to achieve anything. But on the other hand, it can be empowering, knowing we already have all that we need. We just need to latch on to the right mind set, and pull ourselves up.

I'm sighing aloud again......

It's one of those days when it's catching up with me again. My workload has been building up as there's such a backlog. I've been needed to talk things through to quite a lot recently as there's been one source of confusion or upset after another. It's all very well the therapist saying that it's good training and that the world won't adjust for her, but the impact these things have on us here at the coal face can be crippling. And how many can take 2 or 3 hours out of their day? Once is hard enough, but every day for 4 years really adds up.
And so the backlog builds, and the weight of it feels so heavy, and yet time marches on. Dinner needs cooking, the weeds are growing, the animals need feeding and the youngest needs help with her homework.

The time spent with muscles tensed with stress leaves them aching and stiff, my head is aching and I feel so very tired. I catch myself sighing loudly, and feel as if I could just sit down and cry. For hours. But that is not possible, she is so hyper-sensitive that I'd be found out in a flash, and it would be so hard on her. So I keep it in again. And dream of a time when I can find a place to hide away and weep.

Such long days

A carer's day can be so very long. Mine starts early, getting up before everyone else just to get my own head straight, and try and make sure I have done what I need in order to get through work ok. Then the little things that are so essential to helping ease her into a sense of being functional. Nice pot of tea, and the teacosy on, a gentle call  that it's morning again. Listening so carefully to gauge from her muffled voice her state of mind, without needing to ask and cause stresses. Trying to get her own mind round to being able to express in her usual specific and exacting manner  exactly how she is feeling can be overwhelming. Once overwhelmed, there can be no going back, and potentially a whole day wasted.  It's not so likely these days, but the threat is ever-present. So, like a bomb-disposal expert, I listen intently. And I don't ask how she is.

"Shall I bring your cup of tea up, or shall I leave it on the coffee table?" The gentle cajoling needs to to take different forms, but should come reasonably regularly as she loses track of time. But they can't keep on or mention that, as she can start to dwell on what she finds difficult nowadays, or how much it can all seem, which then slows things down even more. I NEED to get to work, and it is so much easier if she does make the bus in time, but she can't be made to feel the urgency as then frustration or guilt slows her down more, and the downward spiral begins.

Many times, this spiral is only one way. And eventually the whole day is given up on. But the decision to stop is put off as hour after hour she tries and fails to get started.

It's nearly midnight. She's been in bed for an hour or so, her tablets have helped her drift off, and I've managed to secretly catch up on some of the work I should have completed. But she is sleeping, and so I've helped her though another day. And I can't think anymore, so have to give up on mine too. Until tomorrow comes and we start yet again.

A start

I feel like I've been holding my breath for over 3 years, just watching and waiting and serving and thinking and studying and waiting and holding it all in. It's so important not to betray my true feelings, of exhaustion, or worry, or shock, or despair. Nothing must leak. Nothing must go out there. Nothing must be detected. Not a facial twitch, or sigh, or welling up, or a downward look. Nothing at all. She is an expert detective, a card shark, a reader of faces. Over 75% of communication is non-verbal and she can read it all. And, like a nervous animal, not a hair will be seen outside of the safety of cover unless she is absolutely confident that all is well. Not one slight murmer of her thoughts, anxieties or state of mind will be released if there is any doubt at all that she will be accepted and understood.

And yet, there is a faint glimmer of a lightening, of a hint of direction, of a possible way to less darkness, less oppressive conditions, somewhere that is easier to breathe in. But with that slight shift towards hope, comes a greater pressure on the flood gates. I dare not let them go, but I am starting to crack. And so, in desperation to share and maybe ease the load, I have started this blog.

Keep your fingers crossed, and maybe also your toes!