My S.O., who seemed on death's door in the hospital on Sunday, became way improved on Monday. I was worried he wasn't coming out of that hospital alive. Now I'm worried he is coming home soon and that I may not be able to cope with caring for him. I think it's becoming physically and mentally too much for me. If I wanted to back off how much responsibility I have for providing his care, now would be the time to do that. He is in the hands of the hospital staff, and no law says I can't leave him there. Of course, if he's recovering, he won't be able to say at the hospital much longer. They are already asking me to pick out a rehab facility for him to spend time at before returning to his apartment. He is telling me that he doesn't want that, but wants to just come home. Sunday night he blew up at me in front of hospital staff.

He's only been at home over the past year by virtue of me practically living with him in his apartment. (I have my own place, but seldom go there.) He has been nearly totally dependent on me for everything. He can't even shave himself. But he blows up at me on a regular basis, especially in front of others. Recently, at home, in front of a home attendant, he accused me of spending too much of his money at Walmart's. He's always sorry about outbursts like that and tells me to just forget what he said . . . that he didn't really mean it how it sounded . . . that I took it the wrong way. I think I know when I'm being criticized. Not that I'm above being questioned for how I do things, but, if I were as incapacitated as he is, I would love to have someone like me doing what I do.

My main compensation is that, when I cook meals for him, I eat for free. (Though I pay for some stuff I get at the store that I like that I know he won't eat.) His remark about me blowing his money seems to be about the expenditure on groceries and household things (like a new shower curtain.) That outburst seemed really out of character, as he had been consistently telling me to get whatever I wanted and to pick myself up a bottle of wine, when I shopped. Sometimes I think he likes to "show off" in front of others by denigrating me when someone else is there.

My mind is in so much turmoil that I almost wish I was dead. I am lonely here without him. I dread losing him. I miss how content we are together much of the time. (And we are.) But I dread him coming home and us going back into that pattern. He accepts care from others very cooperatively without complaining. But, at me, he pitches one fit after another. If I shower him, he complains the water is too cold, or too hot, and I'm not getting it done fast enough. If I comb his hair, I'm hurting his scalp. If I clip his fingernails, he lets out yells that I'm hurting his fingers. It sounds almost comical, even to me, as I describe this. However, the unrelenting onslaught of this stuff makes me a nervous wreck. Two weeks ago, after him hollering while I showered him, I broke down sobbing and left the apartment for an hour. (He said the water was hitting too hard on a sore spot he has.)

It would seem that I must be a terrible, bumbling klutz, but the odd thing is that he's not the first person that I've rendered these services too. I've done this for a living and been well regarded for my caregiving abilities. In the past, I've been paid well to care for wealthy individuals who would not have had to tolerate an incompetent or inconsiderate caregiver. I've been hired by people who had previously fired a string of nurses and then found me and were more than pleased. I remind myself - and him - of that, in an attempt to reassure myself that I am a capable person who knows how to do what I'm doing. I thought I had unshakable confidence in my abilities and in my worth. But I don't anymore. I feel, sometimes, like I'm nothing. That's not all attributable to being in a difficult relationship with this man. I've experienced failures in my life. I've coped poorly with some challenges along the way. But, when life is tough, a dependably affirming, supportive relationship can be the "rock" on which we build and rebuild. I've not had that. He brought warmth, affection, humor and acceptance into my life. He used to be - at times - sweetly nurturing toward me. While I had pneumonia sixteen years ago, he served me breakfast in bed, fluffed my pillows and washed my clothes. Those nice memories, however, are interspersed with remembrances of some pretty miserable treatment.

We lived together, on and off, for intervals of years at a time. After one long span of time living together, I left because of how verbally abusive he became whenever he drank, calling me an effin' a$$hhole over and over. On my way out the door, I wrote on the wall with a black Sharpie, "I am not a piece of *****." For years I lived on my own, but went back to him when he stopped drinking. That turned into a fiasco. During a three year period of my having employment instability, he repeatedly told me what a loser I was, which I also telling myself. One night, alone and drunk, having severe anxiety about my newest job, I cut my arms with a box cutter and ended up in a psych unit diagnosed with severe depression. (I was never a "cutter" before, or since.) I recovered, but then I got fired. My supervisor said she knew I was being treated for depression and that it was affecting my job performance.

Eventually, I was back maintaining steady employment and moved away from him again. That was ten years ago, and I'm retired now. I still have the same apartment. It's comfortable, and I was enjoying reading, cooking, gardening and tending to my bird feeders. Occasionally, I would go out with a girlfriend. For the past three years, though, I'm hardly ever home in my own apt. He can't really be left alone for more than a couple of hours. Even that is chancey, so I usually only leave him when there is a home attendant to take my place. Yet, despite how much complaint he has about me, he tells me that he hates having an attendant there. When he needs personal care, if I'm around, he will tell the attendant to go get me. When I take an afternoon to be off doing my own things, he will not allow the home attendant or home health aid to do very much for him. He will refuse getting cleaned up and tell them he wants nothing to eat. Then, two minutes after I return and the attendant leaves, he will tell me he's starved and ask what am I going to cook for him.

I am so conflicted about what to do next that last night I felt suicidal, as absurd as that sounds. I am dreading going to visit him today at the hospital. I just want to take some Vicodin and stay in bed all day. I want to not even answer the phone, if it rings. Writing all this stuff has calmed me down, but, when I started this thread, I was mentally, and even physically, a wreck.

I know members here have read threads I've previously posted, basically outlining this same soap opera. It's a dreary story. I'm sick of talking about it, myself. Clearly, I have alternatives to what I'm doing. It gets monotonous hearing someone whine about the same thing repeatedly and then do nothing to alter how they're living. There is something really wrong with me. Now I'll go to sleep. That's my refuge, if I don't have bad dreams. But I often wake up feeling worse . . . feeling that my life has been one giant waste . . . feeling that I have no interest in living anymore . . . dreading that one day I'll be old and incapacitated and trapped in some miserable set of circumstances like my boyfriend currently is, but not having someone like me to give a crap. He doesn't even get depressed. A lot of the time, he's quite content. I tell him that the way he talks to me gets me very demoralized. So now's my chance to escape . . . while others have the responsibility for him. I could just leave him and his problems in their hands.