I’m sure anyone reading this has heard it all before. I’m tired of getting up in the morning, droning through a job filled with office politics, unable to help my brain injured son further and unable to cope with his pathological lying, his lack of motivation, his manipulation and more.
I’ve lived my life for my son for 34 years. Since he was 11 years of age, and a diagnosis of psychiatric disorder, he has been in and out of institutionalization (juvenile detention x2, an adult life of crime, culminating in a brain injury from violence at age 23, then more psychiatric detention and jail as a brain injured adult). I have advocated throughout, pulling off miracles of funding for him, with care home placements — only to have it fall apart again and again. He is reasonably stable now, but the pathological lies, the manipulation and more continues.
To salvage my own dignity and to stop rescuing him, I moved 4 hours away from his funded care home. Now, in a city where I know no one and cannot seem to break the ice to even have a coffee outing with another person, I feel lost. I am exhausted. I cry far too much. I am overwhelmed with the whys and hows of life…how will I furnish an apartment again? how will I catch up on my bills? how can I make any difference in my son’s life? how can I find love of my own — or worse, do I even WANT to find love?Â After all, I have so much baggage that cannot be disguised; it will all ultimately come out in short order…so why even bother in attempting to find love…
My self esteem is non-existent, I have no joy in life. I want to end this, but wonder if I will make things more unbearable for myself if I fail in my attempt. I would never work in my career again, I would lose my vehicle…I would likely become homeless.
And I do wonder how my son would function. Would he blame himself for my downfall? Would he simply detach from the fact I would not be around to talk on the phone any more and go forward in his own selfish way?
I am unsure of why I even write this in here, except for the fact I felt it needed to be expressed.
I wake up each morning, saddened that I have awakened. I press through each day with no joy and in finding ways to fight back my tears.
I am 57 years of age. I feel invisible and irrelevantÂ I.