I have never spoke so open as I am going to on this blog. All hell has broken loose here at home. The cake that I made? A big waste of time.
Al refuses to change his thinking with things he can no longer do. I have told him so many times, that I can not even remember, that when he gets something out of the refrigerator to drink, he now has to use both hands. He refuses. He doesn’t want to admit he has Parkinson’s. He also refuses my help to get the drinks for him.
Well, tonight at supper, which I am now not eating, and he is snotting and tearing in his plate, spilled the pitcher of lemonade. Why? Because he only used one hand. The hand is so weak, and the tremors are so bad, he can hardly do it with two, but at least he can accomplish pouring his own drink.
I let Al do this, because it is the last thing that he can still handle with meal preparation. I do not want to have to take it away from him until I am forced to.
He got in his tear mode instantly. There is no talking to him. He isn’t listening to me. All I am hearing is he is a failure, he is dumb, he can’t do anything right. He asked me to get a gun and shoot him, shoot him dead.
My head exploded, my neck is hurting along with my shoulders. I had to leave the kitchen and sit at my computer chair where I can see him. He is telling me he wants the words stupid, retarded, and dumbass on his tombstone.
I have tried to talk to him, to deter his thinking to somewhere else. He started hitting himself when I continued to try to talk, so I walked away, before I, myself have a stroke.
I am sorry, I have lost my trane of thought. He could not eat the chicken thigh that I had prepared in the crock pot for him. I had to take the chicken and his potato and put it in the blender and puree it.
He is still crying. The things he says disturb me. I have no idea on what anyone could possible want to teach me by forcing me to listen to someone who is talking so negatively about his life and death. There is nothing to be learned from this.
I am learning that I am wasting my time to some point. Making him a pretty cake should now be tossed in the trash in my eyes. The hopes that I had of what it could do for him, are gone. I can not keep trying, I feel. Not because I don’t want to, but it does not work.
I am not saying that I don’t understand his frustrations with Parkinson’s, because I do, but I can not deal with his bad talk about wanting to die. I want to scream at him. If you want to die, then die! I am tired of trying to save your life. I am tired of trying to make smiles happen for you.
What do you think I sound like? A mad woman who has flipped out? Someone who does no longer care. I care, this is the problem, I care.
I look up at the ceiling of our home, as he is now telling me that I want him gone, I want him dead. I want to live here by myself, and while he is going on , I am pleading, no begging God to stop this. Lord, I don’t want to be tested anymore. Lord, I love you, what else do you want from me? I don’t know if I am strong enough to even do what you could possibly still want. I take care of Al. I go out of my way to keep him as peaceful as I can Lord, but he is not co-operating, because he doesn’t want to live.
I can not even cry, but it is alright. Al is crying enough for the two of us. I wish I had someone to come here and watch him for a while. I need to be by myself.
I only wrote this to help myself. I am selfish right now. If I don’t tell someone, I am going to crack up.
He has stopped eating, and he doesn’t even want my cake. I quit. He left his supper set.
He wants to die, and I want him to live.