My mom asked me to give up my job. I did. Now she forgets I exist most days.
I quit a job I loved 18 months ago because my mom's doctor said she couldn't be alone anymore. My brother said he'd "help with money." He sent $200 once. That was eight months ago.
So now I'm 41, living on savings that are almost gone, and most days she doesn't know my name. She calls me "the nice lady." She asks when her real daughter is coming. I say "soon, Mom." Then I go cry in the garage.
The thing that gets me isn't the grief. It's the resentment. I gave up my career, my friends, my relationship (he left in March — said he "couldn't watch me drown"). And for what? To be a stranger in my own mother's house.
Everyone says "she can't help it." I know that. I know. But knowing it doesn't make it hurt less when she screams at me to get out of her house. It doesn't make it easier when I have to change her sheets at 2am and she hits me.
I don't want advice. I've read the books. I've called the hotlines. I know about respite care and Medicaid waivers. What I don't have is a single person in my life who will just say "that sounds unbearable" without immediately pivoting to "but have you tried..."
I'm not a hero. I'm not a saint. I'm a person who is slowly being erased and can't afford to stop.
If you're in this too — I see you. That's all I've got today.