Funny old day.
It's been a funny old day for me today. I think it's because of all these appointments we've had recently. I always feel a bit flat. This Dementia seems to bother me more than him. It's kind of put me in limbo. When he's in the house I'm selfishly wanting some time to myself and when he's not home I'm feeling lost because what am I supposed to do when he's not here.
The place we're at at the moment lulls me into a false sense of security. We seem to be at a plateau and whilst I'm glad of that I'm always waiting for the "D word" to go "BOO". I seem to work best on adrenaline and when it isn't needed I fall flat. I feel as if I hit a wall and start wallowing in self pity. I can't believe just how selfish I am. I'm not willing him to be ill, I'm really not. I just miss work, seeing people, getting out of the house and having people to talk to. I find writing this blog theraputic, a way to unburden my head from thoughts that I have that would rattle around my head. I'm enjoying Twitter. It's a way of communicating with people, and there are some lovely people out there, and I can retain my anonymity, which is very important to me. I feel isolated. I build walls up. I hole myself up. Then I can get upset that people don't try to knock down the wall, which is my own fault, nobody else's.
I put my makeup on and paint on a happy face. "Smile and the world smiles with you." My mother-in-law knows how things are going simply by whether I laugh or not on the phone. Bless her. She's lovely. "I don't think we've realised just how difficult things have been for you" was said recently. That's because I choose not to let on about how difficult things can be or have been. She doesn't need to hear about things that have been said, or things that have happened because it's her son. This illness is awful enough without her sitting at home worrying about things she doesn't need to know.
I don't resent my husband, he's smiling, and joking and laughing at the moment, and we haven't had this for a very long time. I resent this sodding, bloody awful, cruel disease called Dementia, and I resent it for making me such a selfish old cow, for turning me into a sometimes jibbering, crabbit, bad tempered, snap at her own shadow, wreck... but I'm flicking the fingers up at you dementia, every time I put my lipstick on.