​Nothing Left

There comes a point in every caregiver’s life when they realize they just have nothing left. They’re in therapy, but the therapist isn’t with them 24/7. They have aides who help, but the aides’ shifts begin and end. Any days off from work are filled with doctor’s appointments.

They wake up and make themselves want to start their day. They make themselves deal with people. They even make themselves eat. They are making themselves live their life.

They try to be positive. They try to imagine that someday this will be over. They try cognitive behavioral techniques. And they try and they try and they try.

I have tried support groups. These seem to be an exercise in “isn’t this awful?” Or subjects are brought up of which I didn’t even know to be afraid.

I am a kind of tired that sleep doesn’t fix. I’m carrying the weight of something I can’t put down. Sometimes I wonder if by the time I live through this, there will be nothing of “me” left. I will be so changed as a person that even I won’t recognize her. I think I already don’t.