There was mutual care giving in this relationship that has a very long history. He used to be so good to me, if I got so much as a cold. He'ld run to the store for things and bring me breakfast in bed. He's kind of a nurturer deep down. He appreciates me quite a bit, and he would still do what he could for me. It's just that he can do nothing for me physically, and his mind is becoming foggier and foggier, so that he offers little in terms of companionship. It's tragic, and I am so sorry for what is happening to him. And he never complains about his loss of faculties and abilities. I even kind of like having him to take care of, as I'm retired on disability, and this "job" gives me some sense that I'm good for something in this world.

But we're far from out families, so I am alone with this. And it is lonely. Yes, he is very lucky to have me. I will have no one when my health goes downhill.

He's getting to where he can't even fix himself a simple meal. I must go over and see what I can try and get him to eat today. But I'm stalling. It feels so dreary over at his place. If we were living together, caretaking him would be a lot more convenient. We used to, but separated because I was very unhappy. It was not a great relationship. I don't miss living with him. But now, he really could use a live in companion. I get resentful and think he should have thought of that when he had that option.

I know I don't have to do anything for him. It's my choice. He's very dear to me. For years, he drank . . . then he went from alcoholism to disabling health problems. I've always cared and always helped him. I know I don't have to. I struggle with recurring depression, and he has never understood that. Home by myself, I break down crying. I was in the bed till noon today. I'm not managing to bounce out of this.

I have no interest in life anymore. That sounds preposterous, even to me. I will try to do a few things here before I leave. Open the mail . . . write some checks . . . . shower. I will go somewhere just for me before I report for duty at his house. I will hope that tomorrow I wake up feeling less dejected than I do today. Each evening I hope that. I can't seem to climb up that steep wall of this rut. I am so physically tired, and that is from just doing so little.

Sorry to just whine and vent. I know from long experience that something will seem interesting after I start to do it and stick with it for awhile. This is the advice that professionals give to depressives. I need some kind of a longer term goal . . . . something to look forward to . . . something to hope for.

I wonder about everything. I wonder what we are even here for. I'm not putting the TV on because I refuse to have the bad news of the world keep getting dumped into my brain. I don't need to know how many people in the Middle East got their heads cut off today. I can't help them . . . or stop it. And there will always be something. Usually, I go from CNN to MSNBC to FOX to BBC. And I read news magazines and try to follow the issues. The world, at large, seems like a hopeless place. I believe there are people of good will doing the best they can to solve the problems of the world. I admire them and wish them well. But I'm getting to think it would have been better if the human species never evolved.

I need to focus on the beautiful things of life . . . and they are there. Right now, some dancer is practicing till her feet bleed to be able to perform a beautiful dance. I don't know where people get the drive to care enough to make sacrifices like that. At one time, I did. Not any more. I just wake up, thinking, "I'm still here. More life to drag myself through."