The End

Nov 17, 2023.

He came home to die. I was able to be with him for a couple of hours. ended up in hospital due to breathing difficulties, not surprisingly, a bit stressful. he died 2 hours after i was admitted.

so it’s over. the good, the bad, the ugly.

people tell me to remember the good. there are literally only two things i can remember that aren’t negative. i am dealing with some of that shit today. the fact he refused to put me on the lease, the amount of hassle over that is back breaking.

so much stuff. trying to deal with it one thing a day.

Dying? (again)

Emotionally, I’m doing better than I should be. How many times have I been told he’s dying, only to recover? And I mean that in this last episode, say, the last 3-4 months. You can’t keep flip flopping – relief, fear, relief, fear. That’s just impossible to maintain.

This time might be a little different. He is coming home, but he’s coming with palliative care nurses. At least, that’s the word right now. As always with him, it could change in 12 hours.

At first, he wanted me to visit him in the hospital, but I was like, if you’re coming home to die, why do I need to go to the hospital? So there might be a lie in there, somewhere, that I don’t know yet.

I am getting a little stressed out. It’s not about his dying, dying doesn’t scare me, it’s just part of life. But all the BS I’m going to go through afterward. I am overwhelmed with what I’m going to have to do.

Revolving Door

Step right up! See the amazing resurrected man! Dead today, coming home in a week! And dead again, and coming home again. So he calls me and says ‘my liver, kidneys and heart are going. Is there anything I need to do for you?’ and I say yes, I want to be on the lease. He literally waves his hand, and says ‘done’. I just laughed.

I can’t even list everything that happened. I can’t get any information because I’m not on the lease. He’s now saying (currently) it’s too hard, because his mother is on the lease and she’s in asia and has been for close to 10 years. She has to do something or other to get off the lease, and being 97 yo and bed-bound, this isn’t going to happen.

so the day he dies, I’m homeless. My voice raised a bit which he took exception to.

I’ve no idea what to do. look for homeless shelters, I guess. maybe someplace for abused women, whatever good that will do. This is at least documented since 2018. Feels longer.

This is what an abusive sociopath’s playbook looks like. He wins. I lose. He will literally die to win.

edit: why am I still breathing? I should be so worked up my lungs don’t function. I’ve been less stressed and ended up in the hospital. But here I am. I get a bit teary eyed, but it’s more for me than him. The mental ticky box of things I’m going to have to do is overwhelming.

once again into the breach

For the 3rd? 2nd? time in the last 12 months, my partner is on his death bed. as the doctor who has taken his case (in replacement of doctor strikes) has put him on NIL and no liquids. for 3 weeks. partner went in due to confusion and swelling in extremities. the ‘doctor’ wanted a culture of his hickman line, so nil for 3ish days. it’s going on 4 weeks. my partner can no longer talk or communicate in any way. his brain is not functioning, he can’t get out of bed. he’s lost bowel and bladder control. and he’s lost so much weight, he’s skeletal.

he is shutting down. again. i consider it a homicide. even a healthy person can die without food or water for 4 weeks. they now have him on glucose, because he just needs a bit of sugar to kick start his failing organs.

i may not have all the information, as his brother isn’t big on letting me know what is going on.

if you remember, i don’t leave the house. I don’t think I’ll die if i do, i know i will if i do. I am charging my mobility scooter. i have clothes picked out, and I’m going to go see him tomorrow. i don’t know if he’s going to be there when i get there.

knowing my BIL, he will clean out his bank accounts. i am not on the lease, so need to talk to them along with banks. doesn’t much matter because BIL is going to take care of everything, i will be informed not consulted. if that.

I’m in a pickle. on one side, my partner of 20+ years is dying. on the other side, my abusive partner of 20+ years is dying. how am i supposed to feel? at the moment, relief. tomorrow? terror.

Emotional Abuse?

Bit of a back story. I was in hospital August 22 and January 23. Alternatively, my partner was in the hospital when I was home. So at any given point from August 22 to now, only one of us is home at any given time.

During my stays in hospital, he visited 2, maybe 3 times, but only when he had another reason to be there, say a medical test that needed to be done. I never visit him when he is in because I can’t leave the house. He is aware of this. He always has one or more brothers who stay with him. He is not alone, at all.

When I was home, I was alone. Previous posts document some of the stuff.

He is currently in the hospital due to kidney problems. Because he is in the hospital, his home help has been canceled. So, since he’s been in hospital, no cleaning has been done in the house. Yes, there is a brother here, but it’s not his job to clean (or take care of me) he’s here for my partner. I am literally sitting in trash, because I can’t take it out, the brother won’t and I have no other help at all.

I asked my partner to hire one of his ‘friends’ or one of the guys who used to help clean the house. He refused. He told me to call them, because it was ‘awkward’ for him to be the middle man. But it was okay for me to try to hire someone I wouldn’t recognize on the street. I begged him to call the guy. He still refused.

I got mad. On my last attempt to get help, he called, and I just said ‘I’m busy’ and hung up. I just couldn’t deal with it anymore.

Since then, I have tried 4 times to open communications. He has not responded to any of it. I even said ‘I’m sorry’ but that didn’t get a response, either. Just silence. That I believe is emotional abuse. So what do I do? Call the police, who go down to the hospital and they do what?

I’ve had a nurse come over every day to change my surgery’s wound with new packing. This alone is really stressful for me. Living in a filthy house is stressful. I am buying new clothes because I literally have nothing clean.

I just want to give up, it would be so much easier to give up. But something in me just keeps trying.

edit: a few minutes ago, he calls, and says ‘you’re not answering the phone’. I say ‘i don’t answer numbers I don’t recognize’. He says; he’s trying to call, answer it. and hung up. A couple of minutes later, guy calls. we make arrangements for a weekly visit for a reasonable cost. Thank goodness, i can now sleep in a room that isn’t overflowing in trash and doesn’t have a dirty floor. This alone will really help my health.

edit 2; just before the new cleaner showed up, I begged my BIL to help with the trash, which he did. The floor was still littered with detritus, but at least the bags were out. I am so thankful, he didn’t need to do this, but did. I can feel my lungs unknitting. It’ll be a while, maybe an hour, before they truly become relaxed, but it’s a great start.

A Tsunami of Ow

This week? Oh yeah.

So, coming up to the death of my cat, the only loss, of all my family, I can still burst into tears at the thought.

My doctors office been closed for the holidays, so ran out my anxiety and painkiller meds. This is the second month it’s happened, where I have to stop taking them, because the doctor is creepingly slow in refilling them. This truly isn’t good for me, I’m having horrid anxiety attacks, where the skin on my back tries to crawl off me, and I can’t sit still or sleep.

It’s the ‘holidays’, where for the 22nd year in a row, I can’t be with what family I have left.

And now my best friend has stopped talking to me. Best friend? Only friend. I thought I’d made an error, saying something that might trigger her, I groveled and apologized but she assured me she was just busy and I hadn’t. And then, not another word. From exchanging several messages a day to zero – that feels like a ghost. Now, I realized weeks ago I was ‘using’ her too much, not so much as a crutch, but as a touchstone. I was balanced when we talked. I’d tried slowing down emails, I didn’t want to overwhelm her (I’ve done this before, and I learned to stop that.) but maybe I didn’t do it enough.

She could, indeed, be busy. She got something for Christmas that she’s been hush hush on, saying she’s setting it up and she’ll show me when she’s done. But not even just a ‘busy, back soon!’ kind of email. Just silence. And it hurts.

I don’t want to blame her because it’s likely something I did. I don’t keep friends. I think part of it is I’m a private person. Part of it is I’m very socially awkward. I don’t know how to keep friends. My daughter, I wouldn’t be surprised if she was still in touch with her kindergarten friends.

So, yeah, lots of pain this new year.

Nice is off the table.

Today, I asked my partner to put me on the lease. He refused, angrily. He said, I’ve not brought it up, but I will now. While I was in hospital this home was a hell hole. His brother told him all about it.

I told him, the reason I’ve not brought it up is because he loves his brother and anything I said wouldn’t be believed. This hell hole was much deeper than he knew. He started to tell me what his brother had told him, but I stopped him. I don’t care what the jack ass said. I know how that family works. They tell the truth but with a tiny twist. Giving it a full on different meaning.

fuck that shit. It truly doesn’t matter.

He was totally happy with me being homeless if – when – he died. Giving me the ol’ reem post posthumously.

Looking at options now.

The idiot doesn’t realize I know where the ‘bodies’ are buried at. And I got receipts. And I got no reason to be nice.

Legalities, in a way.

BIL left to go back home. He’s been here since August. Except for the last day (when there was a witness) he looked through me. I did not exist.

He arranged our house for his own comfort, but called it helping his brother. In the living room, alone, he has 3 tripping hazards, boxes full of broken equipment for ‘tables’, furniture all the way around the room, blocking the exit from back door. Partners PC is now in the living room, with a broken potty chair as a chair. All the curtains are always open so any thief can take inventory without coming near the place.

I asked my partner if I could disable-proof the living room. He said no (strongly, emphatically). I can only think he believes his brother wouldn’t put him in any danger, so it is perfect. It is not perfect, not even close. Then I figure, well, sure. Maybe I will trip or fall over this stuff (already have, once). Maybe that’s the point.

So, here is this. I refuse to accept any responsibility if my partner is physically or emotionally injured due to any reason in the bathroom, living room, bedroom … well really, in any room in this place due to hazards that have been identified or not, because he has refused any changes. (I note, the one item of furniture he hated has been identified and removed from the house for his ‘safety’ in getting to the toilet. I loved this item. It’s why it had to go)

In addition, I hold my partner 100% liable to any injury, physical or emotional, that I incur due to the difficulty in getting around without harm. I am going to include anxiety or breathing difficulties in this. Mainly because I go near that living room, look at it, and instantly spike an asthma attack from stress.

He’s done nothing but parrot his brother since he got home from hospital.

He has also never, ever, been held accountable for action, word or deed. It’s about time, don’t you think?

Catch up

I keep thinking, Oh, I’ll remember that! I’ll post in a couple of days.

Of course, I don’t remember.

I was in the hospital in august. Got out the 10th. I was triggered by the filthy house. Couldn’t breathe. They kept sending me home, and I’d be back in a couple of hours. The hospital system is so overwhelmed they do everything to keep from admitting people. When I was admitted, and then released days later, I was feeling pretty good.

The partner had to clean the house. Like, really clean it. Within a couple of days, he was sick. I was expecting this. He is the only person allowed to be sick in this household. If I’m sick, he’s sick in a couple of days, and it’s worse.

He went to bed. Whined continuously. Took little baby steps to get to the bathroom. Really milked it. I helped him, made sure he had food and water (something he doesn’t do for me) made sure he took his meds, etc. But honestly, I thought he was faking. Then he developed a fever. He wasn’t faking.

I kept trying to get him to call for an ambulance. He kept refusing. Until he couldn’t move, at all. Couldn’t get out of bed for the toilet and you can guess where that went. He didn’t tell me, but I found out when taking his temperature, he’d spiked up to 104f/40c. If I’d known, I would have called for an ambulance if he liked it or not. Finally, he admitted defeat and called for an ambulance. His fever was no longer too high, it was only 102f/38.8c. The ambulance service told him it wasn’t life-threatening and refused to pick him up.

So we called a secondary service – for non-life-threatening medical issues. They took him to the hospital for …what was the term? Public service or some such. Word got out quick and his family started showing up to take care of him. Which was good, he literally couldn’t raise his hand to drink and the nursing staff was so short staffed, they couldn’t care for him.

In short order, the oldest brother showed up. After a couple of days, he comes home from the hospital and says: he’s had a stroke and multiple organ failure. He has hours to days to live.

This was a lie.

It was gaslighting.

A couple of days later when I enquired about his organ failure, he says, quote. Orgain failure? He’s never had organ failure. I asked about his stroke, and my BIL waves his hand, It might have been a stroke, but MRI is indeterminate.

He gas lit me. For funzies. See, I can’t leave the house. I equate leaving the house with death. So I weigh each thing – is it worth dying for? Well, when I thought my partner was on his death bed, I said yes, it’s worth going out for. BIL says, but I thought you couldn’t leave the house? (but his tone was AHHA! I knew you could, you’re just faking it. Wanting attention.)

Ever since then, he has literally ignored me. He does not respond when I make a comment. He looks either through me or not at me at all. I’m not invisible. I do not exist.

There are many things I can bring up about my BIL, and I will. I don’t know all the ends and outs of what abusive behavior is, but I figure one or two things he’s doing would qualify.

I will be going into that in the next post. Hopefully soon. I have no one to talk to, so this is it. No one to talk to here, either, but better than just sobbing all day. I’m tired of crying.

I Screwed Up Again

Damn it all. I think I know what I did wrong. See, I’ve always caved in when told something is too hard to do. After 20 years living here, I am STILL not on the lease. I signed the lease at the start, but his mother wasn’t there. I had to go out of the country for a couple of months. When I got back, they had signed a new lease – him and his mother. (My clothes were packed in boxes, too lol.) And ever since then, when I’ve asked to be put on, it’s been ‘too hard’, to get all of us together at the same time. I said, okay. And the next time, and the next time, I asked, same thing, too hard. Last time I asked, his mother no longer lives with us, but it’s still ‘too hard’. Caved, it’s just not worth the stress of pushing for it.

I had the perfect opportunity to ask for ‘my’ money, that he holds in a family account. So I did. Gave a perfectly valid reason for it. He’s told me, just ask for it, I’ll give it to you. I asked. The next day, he comes in and says, really, it’s too hard. Have to travel, questions asked, bank transfer might cause problems. All truthful and valid reasons. But I held firm. It’s my money. I want it, in my hand. We had a long-winded ‘discussion’ about it. I ended up saying I’d think about it, cause he just wasn’t budging. I’ve got to think of a valid way of sticking to my guns.

The next day, he comes in and says; there’s no good way of asking this, but are you planning on leaving me? And I know why he came to that conclusion. Because I didn’t cave. I always cave.

I said; No. Just that. He acted like he believed it. I don’t know if he actually did.

I had also had a conversation with a psychiatrist who offered me a way out. I had partners phone, and I spoke quietly, but he still may have heard a word or two. I told her I wanted a way out. He might have heard, I don’t think so, but maybe.

I want that money. I need that money. I can’t start all over again in a country not my own, with zero family or friends or funds for support. If I don’t get that money, I don’t go.

I had this whole fantasy of venting on him. His sociopathic tendency. His attempted murder attempts. His constant lying. It felt good – but I also know it would be the stupidist thing I could possibly do.

No money, no go.