<hugs> Just know that grief comes in waves. Sometimes it comes out of nowhere years later and knocks you on your you know what. I've learned, slowly and painfully, not to fight the waves so hard and just let the feelings happen. It's hard, so hard, to lose your parents, especially after having to care for them and seeing them as ... well, the opposite of parents.
I've been trying to keep this in mind! Of course I'm grieving, and I've got to get better at accepting that I'm allowed to grieve and feel awful, and cry. But I still hate crying and breaking down, and when it does happen unexpectedly and send me into a panic attack or freaked out spinning mess, I worry that I'm going to lose my mind. Again. I suspect that's why I always try to suck it up and supress the emotions and tears.
Kind of wish I could cuss right now to properly express how I'm feeling right now.
Because doc and I agreed we'd taper my dose of diazepam this week, I had less tablets than in previous weeks, the dosage is also less effective because while I'm not physically or mentally addicted to them, your body builds a tolerance to them so they're less effective at calming the nervous system and anxiety and panic attacks, which I needed in order to function and care for mum without breaking. To face things that I've become incredibly afraid and avoidant around because they trigger PTSD or full on panic attacks, and beta blockers weren't effective at calming that mental panic and hurdles.
But I suspect we tapered them too soon, the week after mum's funeral. Because the grief is hitting me harder again, and I'm still facing the legal and financial nightmare, the nightmare house and the pain of sorting through all their belongings and changing their house around. It still feels wrong and disrespectful somehow. As if I'm trying to erase every trace of them, when that's the last thing I want. But the house does need it, and we to make it clean and liveable for us. And deserve to be able to make our home comfortable, and wouldn't be healthy to keep it untouched, like a neglected shrine or Miss Haversham. But it's still physically and emotionally hard work that will take time... and money we don't have...
So I've been without diazepam since yesterday, could have spoken to a different GP when I called them Thursday, but don't want to wind up tagged as a drug seeker or something by a GP who doesn't know me, and was already booked to speak to my GP Tuesday anyway. So I said no, I'd wait til Tuesday and just ride it out, and decided to make Saturday Self Care Day, and Sunday water changes, animal care and chores, and beginning to empty mum's wardrobe ready for collection on the 28th.
Self care Saturday was going pretty well. Mentally shut out paperwork and lists of things to do to try to take some care of myself, because I've destroyed any looks I had through self neglect, and was trying to make steps to take some care of myself and my appearance again to be able to face the outside world again with some more confidence.
But had two automated calls to the landline, first one I missed but used 1471 and found it was BT - the company that we get the internet and landline phone through. Shrugged off the first one after mentioning it to brother, and was enjoying a pottering about, relaxed day for a change. But got another call from BT an hour ago, robot saying that the bill hasn't been paid and threatening cuts to service and late charges, and had no options to talk to a human.
So if I vanish, it may just mean my internet access is gone.
Called bro down to tell him, asked if he knew where the bill was, it was in his neckbeard nest room, when I've specifically asked him several times to please organise utility bills into one of the many types of file I've put in the living room where we can both access them and keep track of finances. Of course, he's not once tried to organise or tidy any of it. I asked why it was in his room, he said because he was going to pay it tomorrow (on a Sunday?) and it's just shy of £100 for this month alone.
Oh, and the bill is still in my father's name and has apparently been paid automatically from his accounts, but he passed a year ago now, and I have no idea how that's going to F with the probate situation, whose name which utilities should be moved to. I've also been emphasising to him that paperwork needs at least to be kept together and expenses kept track of and recorded, since we need to split essential outgoings 50/50 and might be a good idea to set up a joint account that bills come out of, where we both put in our halves with an evenly split safety cushion in there for emergencies. That we're both going to inherit 50/50, I want things to be fair to both of us!
But the workload and stressful things, getting things organised, planning, contacting organisations for info, reaching out for help - it's ALL on my shoulders, and nothing I say or do can get him to step up at all.
Have been swinging between sadness, grief, determination... and anger. Yes, anger is a natural emotion and a part of grieving, but I can't and don't want to take it out on others, or display it and worry my dog, so usually wind up directing it inwards for all the things I failed to do that have landed us in this mess. The time wasted, the broken brain, my inability to just figure things out and having some confidence in my abilities to cope and manage things.
But there's anger at him too. I've asked, begged, given helpful tips, acted like a support worker, and accepted that I have to be the one in charge, or nothing would be done, and he doesn't want to have any input or take any of it off my shoulders.
I was and probably still am proud of him for finally seeing a doctor for the first time in years, and working to get his diabetes and health under control. That's a huge step, and I spent a lot of time encouraging him, recommending specific doctors that were kind, would listen and not dismiss him, the pros and cons of meds and therapy for depression, and how a combo of both are statistically shown to be the most effective method of treatment. That it's his choice, but that he deserved the help, and would find it a lot less scary to begin treating his diabetes, than just letting it rage uncontrolled and his conviction that itwas too late to turn things around and he'd be dead within the next five years or so is just a negative self talk thought very common in depression, not an absolute truth. That he's not a doctor, and that even if it's too late to avoid having type 3 diabetes, that it's very treatable and manageable - if he'll go to a doctor and begin taking care of himself.
When angry and fed up with him not helping then casually calling me to tell me he'd had a diabetic episode of some kind and passed out while in the supermarket. Scaring the heck out of me while also infuriating me that he was so casual about it "just letting you know why I'll be a bit late back", when I never keep track of how long he's gone for?! After that I told him it was choice whether to address his health issues. He's a grown man, but if he thinks he can hide away and ignore it and expects me to take care of him as well as all the house, financial and legal stuff too, he's dead wrong. That I'm burned out, have spent most of my life being a caregiver, either professionally or now with mum and dad, and there is no way in the universe I'm now going to abandon any hope of a life of my own again and sign up to be his caregiver, support worker, and replacement mother figure. That he chose never to leave the nest, but he was going to have to get used to stretching his wings, because I'm not going to take care of him and push him around in a wheelchair when he loses a leg because he's too stubborn to visit a doctor and take care of himself. That he'd find himself shoved from the nest as we'd have to sell the house to split whatever is left and I'd be gone. He finally went to the doctor.
I've warned him since dad passed about how their accounts cannot be touched after the date of death (bro used to do the shopping for mum and dad, online or going out to the shops, while I did personal/medical care, pets and house stuff. That we're both on benefits so have very little income, and he's not used to having to pay utility bills, that there are other costs involved we're going to have to pay, and to be cautious with money.
We both got a one-off caregivers grant of a few hundred. Because once mum was diagnosed early November, we'd been signed up and assessed for caregivers allowance, which is ongoing as long as the caring does. Mum passed away before anything had been finalised and let them know, they said we could still qualify for a one off grant due to the caregiving we'd already done. I guess they decided I was the main caregiver given I was doing all personal care and liaising with agencies and medical staff, so my grant was £900, Sam's £750.
The terms and conditions do say that it's to be spent on things for yourself, not related to caring, but as a respite/personal welfare self care, a thank you from the government for not dumping your relative into government care and doing all this unpaid work, at least that's how she described it. Since caregivers often wind up self neglecting and burning out. Said she needed a list of things that would improve your own quality of life, what you'd spend the money on, and it could be anything, like hobbies, a short break, anything that you enjoy or need, that would improve your life.
My list had mobile phone as the first, immediate response. Followed by new glasses as I couldn't paint, draw or cross stitch anymore as my glasses are ten years old and I desperately need a new prescription, a proper haircut, home improvements, a weekend doggy holiday with my closest friend and our dogs. The list you give is on the official thing when they approve the grant, and they say to keep receipts to show what you spent it on, since it can be checked at any time.
I don't know what my brother's list was. But I warned him again to be careful with money. That probate settlement is likely at least a year away, we have expensive bills to pay, and will own a house that needs significant repairs and money put into it just to make it comfortable to live in, and that we're pretty much stuck living here until it's all sorted anyway. He agreed, said of course.
Payments came in just before the funeral, and I took advantage of my friend being here with his car, stocked up on only the essential animal care stuff like food, then we went food shopping and I spent around £100. A black jumper for the funeral and £20 for plants, seeds and bulbs were my treats for myself, the rest was to stock the pretty bare fridge, freezer and cupboards, while I was with a friend who gives me confidence so I could face going through a huge supermarket, understood and immediately took me to a quiet area when we first walked in and I said I was feeling panic rising, and helped me calm as we looked for something black that was nicer, and warmer, than the old black top I had.
I got food to cook for all of us, the basic essentials we both use etc, and thinking about the fact that Will was staying for a few days as well, people coming to the house before and after the funeral, cooking meals for all three of us when he visits etc. Oh, and each time I've done that - asked for and paid for the ingredients to make a meal for all three of us, it always comes out of my account. Never his. Then I find myself also washing up afterwards since it's there the next morning when I get up at 6am, and he sleeps to midday before maybe going to the local shop a five minute walk up the road to get whatever I've written on a shopping list.
So that was my first hundred gone, but in a useful way, and felt a bit guilty blowing £20 on plants, but they're two mother in laws tongue plants, and mum always had those, so I couldn't resist, and because I couldn't plant any tulips or other bulbs last autumn, I wanted some nice flowers in pots and grabbed some cosmos, spider lilies, and a mixed box with freesias, dahlia, cornflower seeds etc. Gardening is therapeutic, I enjoy it, and both gardens have been sorely neglected over recent years, and I wanted the promise of spring and new life, and motivation to get out into mum's front garden and tame it again. She loved plants and gardening too.
Brother went out and blew his entire grant immediately on the newest playstation console, a 'new' reconditioned phone that he showed off while the £300 price sticker was still on it, and was very pleased with himself. At least he gave me his still working old handset, I guess. But the topic only came up as he showed off the phone to all of us that evening after mum's funeral and I reminded him I still don't have a phone. He apparently replaced it because the battery life isn't as long anymore, but otherwise it's fine. But we all know he just wanted a new gadget to play with. And now he'll need to spend more money on the latest games for his console, and stay in his room playing games all night and sleeping most of the day unless I wake him up and give him specific jobs to do.
I'm worrying about how to pay for and buy a double urn I chose online to house both mum and dad's ashes. Buying, writing and sending thank you cards to everyone who attended, who sent flowers, neighbours who gave support, help and condolences. Buying file folders and organisers to sort the paperwork nightmare, masking tape to paint, parcel tape to pack things up, and paying for our guests (and my brother and myself!) meals at the wake, just as I did with dads.
I'm so stressed out, and do not want to be quibbling over money, holding resentment, or to lose my ever loving manure and blow up at him or damage our relationship. My more logical and empathetic side reminds me that he has his own issues, my mental illnesses and actions are my own to deal with, and it's not okay to take it out on others. That turning it inwards has hurt me my entire life, and I'm sick of it. That it isn't his fault our parents died, that he is making efforts, and has a good heart and willingness to do things "to help" when given direct requests, but I also resent having to boss him about and break down tasks specifically and carefully. I can't just say "can you begin clearing mum's wardrobe" and have him understand and do it, the way I could with a coworker or friend.
So it becomes an additional mental burden, and feels as though I'm asking him to help me do jobs I should just be doing myself? When we both live here! The chores and mess is equally ours. So why do I have to ask him or order him to wash up or wake him up like a teenager after he's been up all night playing games, I've been up all night listening to music and crying, or on here venting, and he's complaining he's tired because he didn't sleep well, does the specific jobs I asked, then returns to his den.
Someone mentioned I put myself down a lot on various threads in the forum. Try to help someone, but always add a disclaimer that I'm a nobody hobbyist and not an expert, which is true, but is a pretty negative way to put it. That while I'm putting myself down to others, I'm reinforcing those messages to myself too. Who will respect me if I don't respect myself? Has given me something to consider, and now that I'm more consciously aware of it, I want to attempt to stop doing it. But it's tough, because deep down, on an emotional, not logical level, I believe those put downs about myself.
