Sometimes (no, it’s often)
she hangs there, just hangs there,
a string of bleeding hearts
slowly tightening round her neck.
I loved you once y’know she says
(she whispers it, pulsates it out).
I know he says as
he sits there drowning
in a blood red caring sea.
(Those bleeding hearts bleed out
for him and not for her.)
They come for me he says,
they come for me.
And so they do.
She is collateral damage
in the strange battlefield of care.
She is expendable.
His needs string the noose around her neck.
He will be the death of her.
This is a re-write of my previous post which was so convoluted I don’t really understand it myself.
Life at the ranch is pretty bad and has been for some time. Handsome one was hospitalised for two months earlier this year and his needs have increased five-fold. Before hospitalisation I was finding it increasingly difficult to cope, what with meeting his needs and holding down a full time job. Due to financial commitments giving up work is not possible, nor do I want to. I have my needs too.
I did not expect him to come home, rather enter care, and with this came a sense of relief. However he was deemed to have capacity and expressed a wish to come home – so he did. My needs and my ability to cope did not enter the equation. He came home with an extensive care package in place – its supposed intention to help me. But oh how I hate it – it is so intrusive and my right to privacy is gone.
The carers are good folk – but in their caring are drowning any independence handsome one had, pushing him deeper into the sick-role, deskilling him and giving him entitlement, an entitlement he feels to do less and less for himself – and thus increasing my burden.
This feeling of entitlement has brought about a personality change and he has said some hateful things to me, this from my best friend of many years – I can honestly count on one hand how many times we have rowed in our married life. And now I no longer love him. I cannot forget what he has said, can’t deal with how selfish he has become.
When I was a student nurse, I had a sixteen week placement with the Community Psychiatric Team, my mentor ‘Dave.’ We regularly visited an elderly couple – Charlie & Margaret – Margaret having dementia and Charlie finding it extremely difficult to cope.
Across the weeks I saw Charlie’s mental health deteriorate rapidly but Dave was determined to keep them together, keep Margaret out of hospital or care home.
I informed Dave I thought he was terribly wrong, in that he was sacrificing Charlie’s mental health for an egoistic unreachable goal. He smugly said I was wrong. (Both Charlie & Margaret ended up in care…)
In all my years as a student, I only received one bad end-of-placement report. It was from Dave – he thought I was opinionated. What really annoyed me was that he didn’t have the balls to discuss this whilst I was on my placement – rather hide behind the report.
And now I am Charlie. For the first time in my life I am depressed. I have no rights to determine my future whatsoever. I hate my home life – but I am expendable.
The above shared with the good folk at Poets United – hosted by the lovely Mary.
I must admit to not reading everyone’s posts in other prompts I have entered this year – and for that I apologise. It is just that other things get in the way or I lose heart motivation due to my oft miserable state. I will endeavour to be a good girl and read yours – if I don’t, sorry.
Image: Courtesy of Wikimedia Commons
Author: flemming christiansen from hammer,