Ephemeral Gratitude

I had not been prepared for the almost incessant nastiness that seems to be part of the condition. I don't know whether it is borne out of frustration, depression or confusion, but I am the cause of everything wrong that is happening and for most of the time I literally cannot say anything right. Anything I say can be twisted. Any attempt at assistance can be contextualised as treating her like a baby. Any enquiry as to whether she is ok or needs anything is unwanted intrusion and any attempt at reasoned argument provokes spectacular anger.

We go shopping at the supermarket. I cannot hold her hand because that is apparently the equivalent of keeping her on a lead. But she doesn't follow me down aisles and often follows strangers if they walk too close to her. I turn round and find her walking in the wrong direction and whatever term of endearment I use to call to her is apparently the same as calling a dog. If we are at the checkout and I am packing or paying it can be a real problem if she wanders off. Almost always the trip ends in her telling me to drop dead and how much she hates me, refusing to walk the couple of hundred yards home and insisting on walking in some other direction. It usually resolves itself after about twenty minutes and we manage to make it home and have a cup of tea.

It is not always the case of course. There are those intimate, heart-breaking moments when she looks softly at me and in a quite voice thanks me for being so kind. I tend to choke up.

Gratitude is not why I do it and I don't want to sound like I expect it. But I notice that somewhere deep inside I had the expectation that when you are helping someone they will in some way appreciate it. I was not prepared for almost permanent abuse and criticism.

More stuff they never tell you about.