From the dark side: The damage that haterd can do...Part 7

Penultimate

In September last year, just a few days after my birthday, my Grandmother took a tumble down a step (that was only about 2 inches high) and broke her hip. We had been forced to moved to a new house as the farm my parents had lived on for the past seven years was sold. The move sent my grandmother in a continuous downward spiral and we thought things couldn't get any worse...until that fall. After that life became unbearable for all of us.

She had to have surgery and was in hospital for a month. Our entire family and extended family took turns in sitting with her in hospital to comfort her and remind her every few minutes where she was, what had happened and prevent her from trying to get up or pulling her catheter out. I sat staring at her not being
able to offer any words of support other than the stereotypical cheesy stuff when it was absolutely necessary. My Mom was unhappy with the care she was receiving at the hospital and brought her home early. That day was one of the worst days of my life. It was just me and Georgina and the amount of care my grandmother needed was overwhelming.

That fall shot any sanity my grandmother had left. When she came home from the hospital we had to put her in nappies/ diapers because she was incontinent. Her vocabulary were severely compromised but that didn't stop her talking in a continuous monotonous voice from the moment she woke up until she went to bed. The only talking she ever did was in the form of some very weird prayers or calling my mother. That was on a good day on a bad day she would shout and scream continuously. The talking alone drove us up the wall. Even though her leg healed very well, Alzheimer's had started to claim her motor skills and she was confined to a wheelchair, only being able to walk very short distances with a walker. She screamed every time we moved the wheelchair and taking her in the car was impossible because it was "To fast" and she was afraid we were going to crash.

My Grandmother never slept. She had no concept of time or of night or day. My Mom had to eventually start sleeping with her because she was so terrified of being alone and would try to get out of bed. She had several panic attacks a day but my Mom was hesitant about putting her on medication because she didn't want her to get addicted. Though, I understand where my poor Mom was coming from the whole thing was absolutely ridiculous. Eventually one night after I found her in bed choking and hyperventilating which resulted in us having to call an ambulance, my Mom relented and my Grandmother was put on a sleeping pill and sedatives, providing a little relief (and some more sleep) for all of us.

Whether it was because of the drugs or the disease she began having hallucinations. She had entered her own world never to return to the real one. If you told her something that she was seeing wasn't there it was like she either wouldn't hear you or comprehend you and just went on talking about the strange imaginary place she was in. The doctor put her on medicine they use treat people with schizophrenia, which I found odd but it didn't make any difference any way.

She hasn't been as aggressive as most Alzheimer's patients but she has tried to take a few socks and slaps at my Mom. The worst was when I found her trying to strangle Milo- he and jumped in her lap and frightened her, when I walked in I was so horrified I grabbed him away from her and slapped her hand hard. She then told my Dad I had tried to kill her.

Her final obsession was with my Dad. His name was always in her mind and in the last few months she has called for him continuously throughout the day. At first she was convinced he was her husband (something my Dad did not take very kindly). Then to her, everyone she saw was "my Dad" whether or not they were even male or female. The saddest part was when she finally forgot who my Mom was and stopped calling her by her name. I think because she always heard me call my Mother, "Mom", she started to do that too. My Mom would not accept this until the day when my Grandmother was crying and saying over and over again, "Where is my mother?, I want my mother!", my Mom gave in, knelt down next to her and said, "I am your Mother". My Grandmother then cried over and over again, "Oh thank you!, thank you!".

They say that with Alzheimer's patients, the happiest memories go last and this was true for my Grandmother. Her very last memories to go were those of her childhood and when she was at boarding school. My Mom tried to talk to her as much as she could about those days, hoping she would be spared a while long with those happy treasures in her hands. But ultimately, my Grandmother would wake up every morning having lost more of what little memory she had left. And so we watched as every last thread of her life slipped away and she became a stranger to us and us to her.

It is very difficult to convey in words how horrendous the last year has been. Our family, my parents in particular, have faced many trails in their lives but very few of them can compare to this. What we have watched happen is truly frightening. Torture is the best way to describe the emotional impact it has had on us and the toil it has taken on our lives.  Our entire lives revolved around my Grandmother and her care. We had very little freedom. We could never go out as a family and if one of us was out it could only be for a few hours because someone was on duty at home and needed to be relieved. It was worse for my mother- for the past year she has been house bound.

It has had a different impact on me. Of course I was to busy with my damn revenge to notice that someone who loved me my whole life and nurtured me (in her tedious, bossy way), was slipping away. But there were moments when the pain of what was happening would lash at me. Watching Little B running to her Great- Grandmother arms wide open only to get pushed away because she thought Little B was attacking her. And then seeing my Mom cry because she missed her mother so much- she was there but she wasn't at the same time. My Dad used to say that the person we had in our house was no longer my Grandmother and that she had left us some time ago. As harsh as that sounds he was right.

And where did all my hatred get me?. Well it got me nowhere. It was useless. It just made me more miserable and more of a liability to my Mom instead of an asset when she desperately needed help. I felt bitter because I had gotten nowhere. I'm still angry at my Grandmother but how is that benefiting me?. It's funny how human beings see holding on to anger as doing them some sort of justice when they have been scorned. In the end no one cares and it's like going around in a circle.

The ramblings of a dull, bitchy mind

My hair is getting way to long…ginger curls that are suffocating in the heat and feel heavy. I go through periods of wanting to shave my head to be free of it.


I’ve been told by other red heads that I am lucky I don’t possess the epidemic of freckles that go with being a carrot top….they should see me after a day in the sun.

I had to get up early this morning to care for my elderly grandmother so my parents could go to church. Feed her, put her on the toilet and generally make sure she doesn’t freak out to much. Unfortunately she wet her skirt because I left her to long on the potty and she moved.

Why is it that I can still taste my medication two hours after I have taken them?

The meds have put into a four- year haze

I asked my Mom to bring me a bag of something nice when she got home. She brought me celery and eggplant. Both of which I like, but not exactly what I had in mind. My Mom’s fear of my landing up overweight like my Dad has been ruling my life since I was seven, when it became clear that I had inherited his genes.

I have been battling an eating disorder/ food addiction since I was seven.

I am tired of being raked over the coals by both atheists and Christians. To Christians I committed the ultimate sin: I lost faith and I denied God’s existence. To atheists I did the unthinkable I took my faith, as small as a mustard seed and decided I wanted to know God again. Both feel betrayed.

Sometimes I wonder if I will ever feel normal again.

I just want to be normal again.

Define normal?

Some days it takes me two hours just to get to the point where I can get out of bed. Other days it will take me the same amount of time just to make my bed: I straighten one side stare at it for half an hour then straighten the other side.

I dread every time my sister comes home. She is always a reminder of what I have missed in life and what I am missing. We are not close and never have been.

Does anyone know how to put my banner in the middle? It's driving me crazy...

The realisation that I could loose my cousin is starting to terrify me. He hasn't got his results back yet but fear and imagination are a cruel thing. He's cool with everything. Why don't I know him better?. Regrets.

For university, it took me a whole day to get through half a study unit…which is normally only supposed to take four hours. I guess I can call it a success.

Me, Myself and I

Here I am again, with one of my pre- dawn posts after being up all night. It's either that I can't sleep or my mind is just so active I don't want to sleep. Tonight it was the latter- I was dusting my room at 2:30am.

A lot has been happening the past few days. I went to my church counsellors on Saturday, where they prayed specifically for forgiving and for my faith. A lot of messed up stuff has been coming up. But that's another post. I've had a certain topic on my mind for the past few days and I would like to get it off my chest. Please know that this is only my opinion and you have the right to disagree with it. But if you suffer from serious depression, it's something that you may want to consider.

The thing that bothers me about this disease and, indeed even it's treatment, is how focused you become on yourself. When you are in the midst of the awful haze of a bad day you can be forgiven on nothing else but getting out of bed, having a shower, eating all the while having to deal with the bone crushing heaviness. But on other "brighter" days. The focus is still on SELF.

Even with treatment. ME for example- I visit a psychiatrist to discuss MY meds and how I'M feeling. Then off to the psychologist where I talk about ME, MY past, MY present, MY future. And we discuss ME in very minute analytical detail. I will spend two hours a week with the church counsellors where they spend 80% of that time listening to ME talk about, well ME. Anybody supporting ME right now is focused on ME

As for ME I am constantly having to monitor how MY meds are affecting ME and how I feel like today and then ME and ME and I, I, I, MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!

Now, I'm not an idiot I know that to get well, focusing on myself...quite a bit is required. And I don't want to offend those people who have to find a great deal of courage to do this.

But....

Isn't it possible it could go the other way?.That we could focus on ourselves a little to much and lose touch with reality that way because all we can see is ourselves?

The reason why I am bringing it up is because of all the amazing inspiring people that I have met over the years who are in recovery, I have come into contact with a select few, who- and I don't mean any disrespect- are so self- absorbed that they can't tell their ass from their elbow.

I don't want to downplay that they have had hard times. But they are mostly past the trauma stage and stable and have found that they kinda like this part of therapy 'coz of the attention. Seriously, you'll meet these people and time slows. They'll tell you their story...but then they will tell it to you again and each time time the story gets longer and then they start analysing it in minute detail. During a conversation they'll just wait for someone to take a breath so they start talking about themselves. Again. It's no use trying to change the subject because they immediately start to get that "faraway look" as they retreat back into Planet- I. You'll get more response from a tree.

I'm being mean. But I guess I feel I can make jokes because I WAS that person. I'll humble myself and say that I still am in some ways, but I am making the effort to change- not just because I think it is vital for my recovery but for the poor souls that had to put up with my PMS - Poor Me Syndrome.

It is not healthy to focus on yourself all the time. It isn't good if all your thoughts are YOU- based and you should not be allowed to talk about yourself all the time- unless you are paying them

That's why I firmly believe in SUPPORT groups, it's a double positive- you get to share your experiences but you are also forced to shut your trap for a while and listen to somebody else. And in that way you will learn and gain more knowledge.

I also believe that- once a person is stable and if they are able to- volunteering is a great idea. That way the focus is taken off yourself for a bit, while you do something for somebody else. Volunteering with a local mental health organisation could be the most amazing and inspirational learning experience. I speak from experience when I say sometimes the best thing to do when you have a problem is to help someone else- it is good for the soul.

As for family and friends, I have decided that no matter how bad I feel- I will take an interest in how they are doing and LISTEN to them when they talk.