Far too anxious today. Fucking fuck, too many bad thoughts and stupid worries.
I’m wearing a shirt that reads “Kill Me”.
If you saw me at a party or on the street would you promptly murder me?
What about if I had a few drinks? What if I was walking alone at night?
I’m guessing that you wouldn’t if you’re a sane individual.
The cops wouldn’t overlook your crime because of what I’m wearing because that’s silly. I wasn’t literally asking for you to kill me based on my choice of clothing. Who would take that defense seriously?
My friends wouldn’t blame me for being murdered and my killer would be behind bars almost instantly.
So, why is it okay to rape someone because they’re wearing revealing clothes? Why does THEIR choice of clothing excuse THEIR attacker?
It doesn’t. You’re silly if you think otherwise.
The less guilt on the attacker. The more guilt on victim.
Stop. Victim. Blaming.
Reblogging this again because it’s perfect.
I fucking love you.
I’ve never posted anything about being a carer. I’m not sure why, since it’s one of the biggest parts of my life.
Next month, I’ll have been caring for my granddad for a whole year.
He has Alzheimer’s (or ‘Alzeemers, as he always calls it) and it’s been gradually getting worse for the past few years. Which is obviously to be expected. My mum was his main carer for the most part. She’d go to his house in the morning before work (he lives in a recently built sheltered housing complex, which is great) and she’d give him medication, change his bed, give him breakfast, put his lunch out for him and basically just make sure he was okay. She’d go at night, too, and give him more medication, make him his tea, do washing, put out clean clothes…that kinda thing. And while she did an amazing job, it was just far too much for a woman with three kids to do alone. So I’d help out sometimes and go in the evenings, so she had time to herself.
However, this wasn’t enough, so we hired carers to see to him in the morning. This worked out pretty well to start with since his first carer had the care plan and stuck by everything we told him to do. Unfortunately, that carer left, so my granddad was visited by a different carer everyday in his place who cut corners and did an all-round awful job. For example, we said that they had to make him breakfast and put it in front of him. If you ask my granddad if he wants something to eat, he’ll say no. So, they’d instead ask him if he wanted breakfast, he’d say no, so they left without feeding him. What’s the point in that!? My granddad is ill, he won’t eat unless there’s food in front of him. That’s just…so basic.
Sometimes, they wouldn’t even show up. Or they’d come too early so my granddad would be at the shop getting his paper (as routine is so important for someone with Alzheimer’s) and he wouldn’t get his pills because he wouldn’t be in to answer the door. Then my mum would get a call saying the carer couldn’t get in to see my granddad and I’d have to go to see my granddad myself.
This happened pretty often. I’d be called to do the job the carers had failed to do since they didn’t follow the care plan my mum had given them. I’m not blaming this entirely on the carers, as I’m sure they don’t have a lot of time to see patients. But that’s not my granddad’s fault, nor mine, nor my mum’s!
One day, I suggested to my parents that I took over instead and cared for my granddad in the morning. I knew it’d be a huge commitment, but the current arrangement was not working, and it was causing so, so much stress for my poor mum and my granddad. So, I took over instead! And things have been a lot better since. After all, he’s family, and I love him. As annoying and stressful he can be, I’d never let him down. I’m at his house everyday and I make sure he gets his tablets, make sure he eats, that he’s got a clean bed, and that he’s happy.
There are good and bad days. As anyone who’s ever known someone with dementia will know, it seems to come in waves. Some days, I’ll be able to have pretty good conversations with my granddad. Other days, he gets pretty distressed about not being able to remember things and I’ll have to reassure him that it’s just the illness.
I don’t want to sound big-headed, but I think it takes some strength to be able to do what my mum and I do. It isn’t easy. It isn’t easy facing a lot of washing to do because my granddad’s had an accident in the night, or trying to stay calm when my granddad’s calling the house 10 times in the same hour saying the same things like ‘who’s coming to give me my tablets?’ or ‘where’s my money?’ or ‘i’ve broken my TV.’ And it’s even harder realising that because I care for my granddad every single day, I’ve almost become desensitised to anything that could be considered ‘sad’ about my granddad’s condition. When I’m telling my sister a comical story about my grandad forgetting something and us having a laugh about it, I’m taken aback by the sorrow in her eyes when she asks, ‘Do you not think it’s…sad that he can’t remember anymore?’
Well quite honestly, we just get on with it. My granddad may have lost a lot of his memory, but he’s still got his sense of humour. I have a lot of fun with him and sometimes, I forget he’s even ill.
I guess it’s because there isn’t any time to cry about him not knowing who I am, never remembering my name, not even knowing that I’m his granddaughter. There’s too much work to do! I’m just trying to give him as good a life as I can, because I love him and I want to be the one to look after him. It’s as simple as that. It’s hard, it’s tiring, it takes its toll on my whole family…but we’ll keep on going.