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He Crossed The Line

He Crossed The Line

I am so mad right now, I could spit nails! I very seldom go on a pity trip. I am tougher than most think, and deal with a lot of issues that in a normal person’s life, would not deal with. Remember my last post? The one of which I spoke about Al and the women’s flyers and papers he was hoarding onto? I have already explained this earlier. Some of you disagreed with me and feel like I should let him have what he wishes, and others felt like I was doing alright. It so matters what your comments are, but I still have to do what I have to do in order to keep him safe for himself, and others. He has not always been an angel, nor have any of us, but when mom and dad were alive, he pulled many tricks that they always got him out of because of his mentality. I get it, and I am not going to bash my parents for what decisions they made for Al. When I talked to Al about his way of talking about women and wanting to gawk at their nakedness, I told him I could understand how he felt, and I also told him he could have a couple of items for his personal use in his bedroom. I thought all was alright, because I didn’t hear anything else about it the rest of the day. Right now though, I am on a pity trip for me. It is giving me great pleasure to some degree, because my mind is off of him and on to me. I worked my bottom off today. I hurt my back again rearranging all the furniture so that he could get his scooter all through the house. I did this for him, more than for me. I did his laundry today, folded it and actually took it and placed it on his bed, that I had changed the sheets earlier this morning for him without an offer from him to help. Everything I do revolves around his wishes and wants and needs. I always put me last. In the past ten months, I have probably had maybe if I stretch it, sixteen hours total to myself. Other than that he and I are together all the time. I bend over backwards to make him happy, to produce a smile. I went way over board to give him a big birthday party. Part of me is starting to cool down a bit and get that built-in mechanism back telling myself, now he is sick. Look at all the medical problems he has, don’t be so hard on him. The other part of me is saying what you did made me so mad. As I said he seemed to be alright, and he took his afternoon nap. It was fifteen minutes before the caregiver was to come for his shower. This was her last day. I went to his room and woke him up telling him it was almost time. She arrived and the shower was given. They both came out to the living room afterwards and all of a sudden, out of the blue, he starts crying, and I mean really crying. She and I didn’t know what to think. Our questions started coming trying to find out what was going on. He kept saying it was personal. What? Personal, that he was in pain. I thought pain in the body? What kind of pain? He said he shouldn’t say because it hurt so bad. I was getting a little nervous, since the caregiver had just pointed out to me that his fingers were very pale looking. He finally says that Satan is bugging him. I thought, oh no! not this again! Then he opens his mouth and the whole ugly story comes out. He was telling her that I was cussing at him this morning, and that I was being mean to him. I told him I never cussed at him and I didn’t even raise my voice. He went on and on about how mean I was and that I owed him an apology for hurting him so bad. Hurting him? Oh, you mean emotional hurting him. Alright. He was letting her know without actually telling her what we had discussed this morning about women and disrespect towards women. She had no idea what was going on, but then I was beginning to get steamed. The caregiver was asking him if he would feel better if I apologized to him, and he shook his head yes. I said instantly, I am not going to apologize. I did nothing wrong, and I don’t feel any different about it now then I did this morning, and actually I had forgotten about it all the time, but obviously, he had not. My brother who is mildly mentally challenged had this all planned out to make me look like a bad-ass in front of her. He wanted his pay back. After all I do for him, he wanted to pay me back. I told him I was going to walk her outside and I left him sitting there with his snotty nose and his tears. Outside I briefly told her as little as possible, since she was not coming back anymore, so she would understand why I wasn’t going to apologize to him. She understood then. I went back inside, and he had disappeared to his room. I called his name three times and he ignored me totally. I marched myself in there, and I told him I knew exactly what he was doing, and I wasn’t playing into it. He could just sit in his room the rest of his night and sulk if he chose. He said nothing. I ordered a pizza, and it has just come. Guess who is walking out of their bedroom now?

oops (Photo credit: macwagen)

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Understanding A Sister’s Love For A Brother

Understanding A Sister’s Love For A Brother

With Al receiving his new Candy Apple Red scooter, I have spent my morning redoing my house to make room. I guess it is officially spring, so I can combine two goals in one. I can sure tell  my body is getting older. Pieces of furniture I used to be able to scoot or sometimes actually pick up, I can no longer do. I use every main muscle to scoot, shove, pant and groan to get it moved one inch. I started with Al’s room, by changing his bed sheets, having him stay in there in case he would like to help, but no help was offered. After changing the sheets, I saw piles of news papers on his bed. I questioned him on why he was saving them in here, and also asked him why I had been noticing that he was taking the papers to his room to read. He had always read them in the living room, but I have noticed he has been giving up his routine of watching his favorite TV shows after supper, taking the newspapers to his room and staying in there. I should have known something was up,but because we have not had some of the issues from years ago, I didn’t put two and two together. One of Al’s mental issues is women and naked women. I understand the whole concept of everything, and also don’t mind if he has a magazine or two in his room for his private times, but he doesn’t do this. As I started going through some partially empty bags and papers, I found that he was hoarding again. He had been saving each newspaper that had a picture of a woman on it. Every ad that was promoting women’s clothing. He had a huge stack, and was hiding them in empty bags, boxes, anything he could find. We have an issue first with his room. His room is very crowded, including walls, floor corners, wall to wall, with his coca cola collection. There is no where else on the walls to even place one nail. I have done my very best to accommodate his wishes on hanging on to each piece of collection, but his room is only so big, so now with saving every paper he can get a hold of and any sacks, boxes, bags, the room is now unsafe, for his unsteadiness. I hated to do it, but with him being in the room, I had to explain that we could not keep this amount of papers, boxes, bags, as it was much more risky for him falling over something. I brought a huge trash bag into his room and making sure he was watching me, I cleaned out the bedroom. Storing some glass items in his boxes, throwing away the papers, and other empty containers. I talked some about how God would feel with him looking at women in an untasteful way. He began to cry and I knew I was hurting his feelings, but sometimes talking to him about God’s wishes is the only way to get him to understand . You may think that I do not understand, or I am being mean. but in earlier postings I have explained the tiny snow flake becoming a huge snow ball with this. It causes him problems with himself, the law, and other people. I have to stop it once again before it grows too large. I have also noticed that when we are all sitting around the camp fires at night, his chatter becomes more adult. I understand that he is trying to fit in and be accepted in his own way, but he will more and more use distasteful language about women’s chests, or use the word freaking, when I know he wants to use the more ugly word.He has been talking about beer and alcohol. I don’t know for sure what is going on, but I do notice it and once again I talked to him about hurting others feelings making comments about their chest, especially when they are sitting right there, and that there is no alcohol allowed in this house, period, so I don’t want to go in that direction with his talk either. Yes, you probably would not enjoy living with me. I try to live with God’s rules and not society’s rules. I never want God to pay me a visit, and see anything here that I would want to run and hide it away from his eyes. Al and I finished his room, and then I tackled the living room. Sweeping, cleaning off window sills, rearranging furniture, so that he can ride his scooter in the house. I am pooped now, so I took the break time to write this blog. I am finishing up laundry and I still have to sweep the rest of the living room and place clean sheets on my bed. I fixed Al’s lunch and am taking a small break.

Last night, I was like a concerned mother hen. Al took his scooter and took off for a ride. He was gone for some time. My mind started to wonder, as I realized he does not know his phone number or address, but I relaxed some when I remembered I had placed this information in his wallet.He was gone for about an hour and did come back. Yes! He was home, back with me again. I was relieved. I asked him if he had a good time, and he nodded yes. I asked him if he missed me, and he smiled and said no. I looked at him and I told him I didn’t miss him either, and then we both laughed because we knew we really did miss each other in just knowing that if help was needed, we each were a hand length away.

A digital picture of a candy apple, taken by Loui Andary, DaemonDivinus 2005-09-24. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)