I cannot believe that my Easter post didn’t go through last week and is still in draft mode. 


Bugger! 


I was all set to wish you all a happy Easter and to eat buns and rabbits until you were sick.


Irony!


Now I’m sick!


But not because of all the Easter buns and chocolates. No siree Bob, its just the crappy migraines from being stressed over not getting my new books started, trying to run a business, a household and my mother as she’s been sick and vomiting again. Hasn’t gone back to hospital yet, and hopefully the vomiting is over, but that damn ulcer of hers needs to go and needs to go now. On top of that, her crippled back means she cannot move fast enough so a trip to the toilet always ends in a change of clothes. Sadly, she’s now in adult diapers which they give gastro patients in hospitals, otherwise I’d be doing a hell of a lot of washing.


Nope, I’ve never gotten migraines from food as many do, mine is from having a crooked back which makes my neck crooked so that puts pressure on my head which in turn becomes very susceptible to loud noise, bright lights and oppressive heat, all three of which wreak havoc on my brain. Right now, I have one across the back of my head and thankfully I’m seeing the chiro this arvo as I’m writing this on Thursday afternoon my time.


So, do you guys get migraines and do you know what causes yours or is it just one of those things?

I am so god damned depressed.


I am forty fucking two in May.


I still live with my fucking mother because in my early 20s I became her carer.


I am forty fucking two in May.


That’s twenty or so fucking years my life has not been my own.


I didn’t get the chance to have a life, a family, kids, partners, friends, a business, a job, a career.


Nothing.


Fucking nothing!


All I have is my little business making and producing books and jewellery which is a hard slog in itself and which I have never had the full strength nor energy to build up due to being a carer. I have my blogs, my social media (although that’s boring me shitless) and the few precious times she’s been in hospital over the last three months to have some peace and quiet.


I so desperately need to get the fuck out of here. This crap shit suburb, in this crap shit state. I desperately want to live on the Gold Coast in Queensland. 


I desperately want to have a life and a partner and kids. I desperately want to be able to just sit and write all day every day in air conditioned comfort (we have not had any in the nearly 22 years we’ve been in this house) and not worry about jumping up every time she moans and groans that she’s in pain. I cannot stop her pain, nor change it nor make it better.


I desperately want to stop myself from becoming a cripple and I reckon by the time I’m 45, 50 at most, I will be.


Did you know carers becomes crippled and in need of care themselves?


All the lifting, turning, bending stuffs up our backs. I’ve been going to a chiro for six years this year, and while she has fixed a lot of issues there is one she cannot fix.


My lower back and sciatica.


Many holistic experts and authors like Louise Hay, believe that because we hold our emotions inside they take root in certain places in our body.


The lower back is where anger and stress is held.


Well, of course I’m fucking angry. I’m 42 in May and still live with my mother as her fucking carer.


We had a conversation a week or so ago, and I mentioned how I didn’t live in my sister’s world (we were having a convo in December about mum being in hospital and I said how I’d spent three hours scrubbing and cleaning up the mess mum had left, my sister said, ‘welcome to my world’) and she doesn’t even come close to living in mine. None of my siblings do.


My sister has an engineer husband who buys her houses, the most expensive iPones and jewellery. She has a couple of part time jobs that require one day a week at each, she looks after their dog, has no kids, doesn’t pay for most of the bills and only needs to clean up after herself most of the time since he’s away a lot. Plus his business paid for them to move over to Dubai several years ago for two years and she had maids. MAIDS!


And of course she’s nowhere near living in my world.


I blog here once a week, write books most days which needs time and peace and quiet without interruptions, look after mum which has been a really big burden since December, try to run the household but most of the stuff gets left undone, I run around every Thursday to doctors and chiro appointments for both of us and buy the food, pay the bills, and everything else she or I needs. 


I also try to clear up the clutter but mum’s a stubborn old bitch who won’t chuck stuff in case she needs it. UGH! Even the ambos have told her to get rid of all the mats in the house because she tripped over them twice and needed the ambos to pick her up.


None of my siblings do that. In fact, none of them could give a flying fuck about their mother. They are not here getting meds, giving her meds, helping her in the toilet, the shower, to get dressed, get her three meals and snacks a day, to run her to the hospital to have tests done. No, they don’t even bother calling up to ask what needs doing this month and coming and doing it.


I don’t need respite, I need a life. And I’m really getting sick and tired of people plugging lifelines for depression. I get it, there’s the one in a million chance that making one phone call to these people may stop you taking your life. 


BUT!!!!!!


They do nothing to help you fix or change your life, and that’s the problem I face. There is no one to help change it. I have no physical, emotional, or financial support in any way shape or form, so, that means never getting to the Gold Coast unless I can get mum to agree to move up there and then go into a nice care assisted retirement home where she will be looked after 24/7 as they have on duty nurses, hairdressers, once a week doctors, help with showers and toilets, meds on hand in case you get sick etc.


My life will not change unless I can win money or a house. Or someone offers to pay for us to move up there and supplies what we need.


Am I too reliant on waiting for other people for help? Fuck no, as I do everything already and receive no help what-so-ever. But it would be nice if someone said, ‘let me help you sort your life out’ and then actually helped me sort my life out the best way possible.


But, there is just no one to do that.


As I said, I don’t need respite, I need a life and a few months before I turn forty fucking two, there looks like there’s only one way out of this garbage life I have, and that is if one of us dies. How bad does that sound, but what else is there?