Herding Cats

I'm angry, and in order to avoid saying in person what I want to say (go f*** yourself), I am here.

There was a lot I intended to say to someone, and earlier I thought that it would be therapeutic to write it all down in an email.  And I had every intention of it being one of those no holds barred emails--fueled by red wine or vodka that is so clear and direct and raw.  But those emails never have the desired effect since it is still Groundhog Day.

I am tired. I am spent. I am blown. I hate fucking dementia and the havoc it has wrought in my life.

For the past two years, I have been offered the "call me if you need me" kind of back up whenever people have learned of the situation, but that is bullshit and they all know it.  Because if you really want to offer me help, you would call up and tell me what you intend to do and wait for me to say yes or no.  You do not ask a drowning person if they need help.  You jump in or you throw out a life preserver.

I am fed up with the Monday morning quarterbacking that goes on when folks offer belated suggestions of what I should be doing.  I am beyond tired of the foot-dragging and delays that have prevented any movement forward on anything.  I am exhausted by playing multiple roles in this soap opera--the overbearing mother, bad wife, nagging big sister, attentive aunt and devoted daughter.  I am frustrated that I am failing and can't get a retest, a do-over or even a fucking break. I'm mad that every time I get to cry, I have to do it by myself while writing a weepy, overly sentimental blog because none of the a$$holes in my life want to deal with how I'm feeling.

But when I get angry, the sky sometimes opens and I get small reprieves. Today I made an appointment to meet with a professional.  As someone once told me, prayer is good but people are better.  So maybe if I keep praying, I'll get better people.