Mentally Ill Relative Freakout (Diary. Day 18,505)

I’ve written before about how difficult it is to take care of a mentally ill relative. I don’t recall if I mentioned that I, myself, am mentally ill as well, but if not, big surprise: I’m nuts.  As you can imagine this exacerbates matters considerably.

One of these is that it’s very easy to spiral out of control. You have to keep a very tight rein on yourself, stay stoical, don’t get engaged. Don’t get happy when the person in your charge praises you, don’t get unhappy when they curse you, because both will happen a lot.

If you let yourself get up, you will sure as shooting get bitchslapped down, it it will hurt twice as bad because you fell twice as far. If you let yourself feel anything when they attack you, or attack people you love, then you just have to have thick skin about it. Distract them, or find an excuse to leave without being too obvious about it, or go to a secret dreamland that you’ve developed. (In my case it’s a domed version of Progress City on the planet Venus. I like Venus. It’s more interesting than Mars, and gets no love)

The hardest part is when they attack people you love, particularly if they’re prone to perseverating on it. “That thing they did,” comes up again and again and again, and if you ask them not to talk about it, they talk about it twice as much and accuse you of never wanting to talk about stuff, about trying to hide things, about how your loved one is going behind your back and doing stuff that you don’t know about, they talk about things that happened fifteen years ago as if they happened yesterday.

It’s all paranoid bullshit, but whereas you can take attacks on yourself on the chin and come back for more, your every instinct is to protect the ones you love. Those attacks hurt three times as bad, so it’s hard not to give in to rage.

The black joke of all this is that if you do give in, if it just accumulates, and you snap, the mentally ill person won’t understand it at all. You can scream and shout and cry and their perspective is so completely skewed that they will not be able to attach effect to cause. They can’t tie your anger/hysteria/sadness/tears to anything they’ve done.

And if you cite bad things they did in the past, odds are they don’t remember it. Let’s say someone used to beat you up 45 years ago, but they’re nuts and have had many nervous breakdownds and are very ego-centonic, they just don’t remember it. Or they remember it in some skewed fashion. Confronting them about it brings you nothing, no peace, no resolution, no apologies.

You may have been hiding under your bed while they stomped around threatening to beat the shit out of you and then throw you out of the house, or terrified when they abandoned you in a parking lot, and because you were a little kid it was the most traumatic, horrible thing in the world. To them it was just another Tuesday, though, nothing remarkable to stick in their mind. If they’ve got a for-shit memory to begin with, it’s even worse. So why bring it up? Why bring anything up? Why get mad? It simply scares them and accomplishes nothing because they’re fucking nuts, and can’t understand even normal things.

I’ve been caring for a mentally ill relative for six years now, and last night I snapped. It’s my fault. I let myself get elated. I took the lid off my Bipolar Disorder and let it boil over, because I was happy and excited about something,  and then it all got slapped away and I fell, and I was very depressed. Then the crazy person started attacking one of my loved ones, the same damn thing that had been said a million times before, and I just snapped.

I screamed, I cursed, I used very foul language, I shook my finger, I fell to the ground crying, I lost it. The dam burst. All the vile, black stuff in me came out in one big flood that horrified me, and merely confused them. Occasionally they grasped enough of it to understand it was a criticism, and then did the big baby defense move of “Well, if I’m saying the wrong thing, then you just never need to worry about me talking again, because clearly I can’t talk,” or whatever “Woe is me” move they think will make them seem like the victim instead of the instigator. Their apologies are mostly just to shut you up, and they don’t know what they’re apologizing for in the first place. It’s circular.

And I suppose at some point you *are* attacking. At some point it probably becomes mean. I never hit anyone in my life, I back away from arguments, I didn’t hit or threaten anyone last night, but at some point in the torrent you want to make them feel as badly as you do. They did this to you, after all. It’s only fair that they should feel the despair and hopelessness and crushing weight that comes from caring for them every day for two thousand one hundred and ninety one days, sometimes driving down to their house three times a day for several days in a row, suffering abuse and just the weight of having someone who’s constantly sick, constantly complaining, constantly finding something miserable to complain about, someone with little or no empahty, who’s driven away all their own friend and relatives, so that there is literally *no one* but yourself for them to rely on.

It wears down your empathy. You still love them, but it gets harder and harder to care about them. And you look forward and see no end in sight. They could live another ten years, fifteen, and it will never be normal. It’ll never stop. It will never, never, never stop. It’s very exhausting physically and emotionally and spiritually and psychologically, and stressful. Oh boy is it stressful. I have a diagnosis of PTSD. I got that from caring for this relative. Entirely from that. Rapid Cycling Manic Depressive guy with PTSD. That’s a winning combination, right?

If that’s not bad enough, there’s a spillover effect on your family. They see you miserable all the time, and they get to feeling bad, too. You’re away from home for hours a day taking care of the lunatic, which means less time to spend with the people you love. They get sad, they miss you. It fucks up their lives as well. If you’re self-loathing, like I am, then that’s a huge burden as well, and it hurts the people you love.

But what can you do? You can’t abandon the crazy relative. That would be cruel. So you just keep taking it on the chin, and packing down all your anger and resentment in a little ball, fighting to keep it from getting out. And then, every few years it does. And then you spend the next six months trying to fix it.

So that was my friday night. How’s by you guys?

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