a touch of unraveling

this morning i opened an old journal i’m trying to fill, and found a blurb i wrote to nanny in the winter of 2017.

it was penned just two short months after i made the decision to move home and be her caregiver. i had no way of knowing just how much pain would be tied to these words. today, i’m reading them all all again on my partner’s back porch, 874 miles away from my grandmother, because these past two years have had a lot to teach me. the tear smudged words that muddy the pages are still as true as they’ve ever been — but in the time that’s passed since i wrote them, it’s been harder than i imagined to keep up with both my promises and myself. 

2017 was for idealism + cock-eyed optimism; a setup for 2018 to come and wrecked me deeply. facing lessons about burnout in real time taught me that if i want to take care of anybody, i have to take better care of myself. empty pitchers can’t fill up any cups, so i learned how to make my own peace. and when i “failed” and my skin started crawling with hopelessness, i assumed that i was just selfish and fucked up for needing so much time to myself. a person could drown in the sheer volume of tears i’ve cried at the thought of not loving her hard enough, and that fear never really goes away. balancing my health and hers feels like stunt work on a tight rope with no safety net, and for a long time i struggled to protect myself. 

annnd that’s why seeking out the time to refresh, reset, and recharge became so important: because once i mastered the art of asking for help, i learned that fear is a liar. i used to tell myself that any time or attention i set aside for myself would be better spent on her because being chronically ill and disabled, i know a finite resource when i see one. protecting it was starting to consuming me, but would take me awhile to realize that. 

more time passed, and i slowly figured out how to pry loose fingers that itch for control; how to unfurl the tight fist that forms in my chest and brain at even the thought of leaving her. the passing of days made my heart grow heavier instead of lighter, and that was when i realized that loving another person is a force that crafts miracles; but it just doesn’t nourish you the way self care does. 

but even after help came, it occurred to me that my mom has a life of her own. would anyone notice before it’s too late that the stove was left on, if i’m not home? so often i would find myself alone in places i’d never been, in front of things i want to remember, unable to think of anything but nanny eating ice cream alone and forgetting to feed the cat. the things she’s told me to go & enjoy were passing blankly in front of me; lost in the memory of kissing her cheek, with me out the door yet again. it wasn’t working. it didn’t feel right. 

this year welcomed a breezy may in england. the tower of london was right in front of me, a dream fresh from the beating heart of my childhood. but instead of exploring, i am sitting on a bench in silence. staring. history is alive at my feet, but the inevitability of loss is taunting me. what does any of this matter? one day she’ll be gone, and the only thing i will want in the world is the chance to do what i’m missing out on right now. 

i still fight guilt in a mental cage match whenever i take “too much” time off. there is no magic fix. i still call her every day, frantic, reminding her to do things that she can’t remember, but others might forget. from the halls of museums and the beds of my lovers, i call and she answers. i soak up her voice like sunshine and do my best to keep it all safe.  

the words i wrote two years ago came from someone who didn’t know the kind of pain that alzheimer’s is truly capable of, and where your heart has to go to survive it. i was someone who didn’t know that you can lose a person differently, over & over, until you struggle to find them in the shadows of their own face. but more than that, i hadn’t learned that loving another can cost you so much of yourself. to this day, i remain the type of person who would do anything to prove that force of will can sustain a soul, and it’s an ongoing work in progress. especially (and always) with her. 

admitting that i’ve been wrong and idealistic about these things is still new to me. sometimes, deep within the lows, part of me still clings to the safety of what i know will hurt me. they don’t prepare you for these things when you start training to be a caregiver, but that’s life, isn’t it? no matter what lies ahead, it seems like no one ever warns you about the real shit until you’re standing in it. the lessons you need are often the ones you have to go out and find for yourself, and how fucking fair is that? you’re really expected to figure it out with your face pressed to a cool tile floor, sobbing into a towel at 3 o’clock in the morning because nothing makes any goddamn sense. 

‘you deserve more than i have to give’ crash lands into ‘take everything, i love you’, and stars are born from the fallout. they say that in this life, we can only be held responsible for ourselves, and for most people that’s true. but when my world split open at the seams, i learned that some of us are bound for a different reality: that if your heart beats for the love of someone else, you might choose to accept responsibility for them, too. 

i mark today’s date carefully between the smeared ink of old promises, wipe my tired eyes, and add: ‘i will learn how to love myself the way i love you” in the boldest black pen i can find. and for now, for once, it feels like perfect balance.