i'm about at the end of my tether. tapped out. at my wit's end. i'm burnt to a crisp. this pandemic thing—which didn't have to be as bad as it is, with over 400,000 americans dead—is doing me in. and i know i am not the only one. having said that—and before i continue—i must express my gratitude and acknowledge my privilege that my husband still has a paying job, we're comfortable and well fed, and none of our friends or family members, even the ones who got covid, are dead.
still, time spent with my son while he's been home from school since last march has been a struggle, especially of late, probably because of winter and because the stress is cumulative; nearly seventeen years of spoon-feeding and changing diapers and pulling up his covers in the middle of the night can get to a person, not to mention his seizures and behaviors associated with the antiepileptic drugs he takes. days are mind-numbingly monotonous. the weather doesn't always cooperate for our walks outside in the garden and back meadow. he's so demanding, intense and gropey, if that is even a word. sometimes he shrieks and grouses and cackles so much i want to scream. all too often i give in to the emotion.
i continue to wonder how the hell i am going to do this for the rest of my life, while at the same time cringing at the notion of strangers taking care of him, what with the high turnover in most group homes. neither seems like a good solution. both give me pause, thinking of a way out of this conundrum.
i sometimes find myself dreaming of being childless and single, able to do whatever i please and go wherever i want to go whenever i want to. i know i am not alone. i think of my mother and wonder how she cooked and cleaned and shopped and laundered for six kids and my father. herculean, really. but we're all doing it in some form or other during this pandemic.