Caring for the carer

Since I was seven, I’ve been caring for my mother. She has MS. She’s in a wheelchair. Nine years of being her permanent carer has been exhausting. It doesn’t start at nine and end at five. It’s endless. It’s sleepless

For the past four weeks I’ve been at a wellness retreat in the desert. It was very much needed. I’ve been in a bad place for a while. This has given me the time to think about my relationship with my mom and I’ve come to realize it’s as unhealthy as people have been trying to tell me.

My mom isn’t an easy person to care for. Some might say she’s a nightmare. She has a disease that is robbing her of her mobility and her life and she is in pain and she is ill. I make a lot of excuses for my mom’s behavoir but the truth is for the last nine years, my mom has been abusing me. She has been manipulating me using her disease as an anchor to keep me attached. There are other people in our family who could help, but they don’t. She’s too difficult.

It’s me and her. Our team she calls us, like twins, always together. She has stopped me from perusing opportunities, using her disability to keep me close. She has sabotaged my relationship and she has manipulated me in countless ways. It’s been difficult to see what others have been telling me. This time away with no other responsibilities and no other voices has allowed me to see what our relationship is really like. It’s not a healthy one. She uses guilt. I reject other relationships because I’m scared I’ll be pulled into the same thing I have with her. She has taught me to distrust men and it’s worked.

Something that I’ve been focusing on over the last few days is how my mom has clouded by relationship with my submission. It’s stopped me from standing still. I run here and there avoiding it because I don’t want to be cared for. It frightens me. I don’t want to be the manipulative person in the wheelchair. That’s not what submission is. That’s not what I wanted it to be.

Sleep, you elusive vixon

I’ve had a few hours sleep.

You know that feeling when you want more, but you know you’re not going to get more so you lay in bed resentful?  I’m that person tonight.

A few hours is better than nothing and I was running on nothing.

Why is it so hard for some people to sleep as adults?

For all the times I refused a nap as a kid, I take it back.  Come get me nap time. I’m yours.

What do you do when you can’t sleep? I read. Write. I use to roll over and give a blowjob or climb on top of him. Now I just read. Or write.


It’s Serenwrap

When a door closes a window opens. Or the window slabs and blows the door open. Either way the house is draughty, it’s eight in the morning and I’m in my PJs with a knock at the door. Little blue cloud PJ’s no less

There stands my best friend of 18 years who I haven’t seen in too long after we parted with angry words. We grew up side by side. He was everything to me for those years and then we weren’t any more and seeing him there reminded me how much I needed him at moments like this.

I haven’t slept in days. I haven’t eaten. My eyes are stinging red and I cried again. There he was right when I needed him, on my door step.

We went to breakfast, talking over each other

Me: I’m sorry

Him: no I’m sorry

We were brutally honest about our friendship crumbling down like a straw house blown on by a pissed off wolf.

Him: I couldn’t continue to watch you make mistake after mistake and ignore the people who have loved you and known you all your life. It hurt me to watch you fall apart. Your happy drained away. I had to leave you and hope we could come back together some time.

Me: Now is the time. You’re right. I didn’t listen. I was miserable.

Him: I’m not going to support you in continuing to make poor decisions but I want to get you healthy again. Your mom called me, she’s worried, my moms worried, a lot of mom’s are worried. You’re skin and bone, your sick and I’ve never seen your hair go in so many directions. This is bad. You need vegetables and a blow out girlfriend.

Me: This is acceptable to me

That was the last thing I wanted. To worry people but of cause clueless me had done exactly that. Worried lots of people who love me because I’m too stubborn to say I need help. I’m out of my depth. I can’t swim any more. Help me. I’m doing stupid things and pretending I know what I’m doing and hurting myself and others. I’m climbing over the roadkill of my arrogance and bitchiness.

Health wise, I’m in dire straits. I’ve never been so run down. I’ve had a cough for months and every bone aches. I’m 25 and feel like those numbers have switched. I need help.

Dear dear Damien who drove from Portland to tell me he doesn’t like what I’m doing but feeds me bacon anyway. I love bacon. And coffee. Small town coffee but what’s a girl to do.


The April winds are magical,

And thrill our tuneful frames:

The garden-walks are passional

To bacheors and dames,

The hedge is gemmed with diamonds,

The air with Cupids full,

The elews of fairy Rosamonds

Guild lovers to the pool.

Each dimple in the water,

Each leaf that shades the Rock,

Can eozen, pique and fatter,

Can parley and provoke.

Goodfellow, Puck and goblins

Knew more than any book;

Down with your doleful problems,

And court the sunny brook.

The south-winds are quick-witted,

The schools are sad and slow,

The masters quiet omitted,

The lore we care to know.

~Ralph Waldo Emerson

And that’s why I’m looking for coffee

I live in small town Maine. Real small Maine doesn’t do great coffee. It doesn’t even do good coffee, so I set off this morning to find better coffee. If you are from Maine you are laughing at my delusional quest. Not know for our coffee. “I’m setting off to Maine to have great coffee” was said by no one ever. The nearest big town is a few hours drive away and that’s going to have better coffee.

I’m always reaching. I’m not a settler by nature. I will always try to make things better, find a better fit, drive for better coffee. I think it would be easier to be a settler. This coffee is good and leave it at that. Imagine that? What contentment that would bring. I have coffee, I should be happy with that.

The problem is, I’ve tasted better. I know there is better coffee out there and I will always seek that coffee which was good.

The coffee in Bangor is better. Much better than home two hours from here. Was it worth the two hour drive? Yes, it was. My taste buds needed the better coffee this morning and my head needed the drive.

But this isn’t a story about coffee.

It’s one of those damn analogies.

I have tasted really good M/s. It was sublime. It wasn’t perfect, he’s not perfect and I’m not perfect but we did it really well. We had this in-sync (Bye Bye Bye – you’re welcome) thing going, we knew each other even when we didn’t know each other. He walked in the room and my atoms recognized his atoms and they tingled because two bits of the same star come back together and we were inseparable from that moment. We argued and misstepped and tripped over each other but it was still sublime and who gets to have that? People look forever for that and I had that. Now I don’t have that. Now I am back in Maine, licking my wounds because it’s fallen apart but I am still looking for ways to make it better. To get back to that sublime thing we had. Like the coffee. I taste small town coffee and my longing goes to big town coffee. I look at what this relationship consists of now and I long for what was. I can’t have what was, I’m suck with small town coffee for the moment, but I’m not a settler. I either find a way to make the coffee better or I find different coffee.

And that’s why I’m looking for coffee