I hate being a caregiver. I hate being responsible for everything. I hate the sickening sweet look and syrupy "Thank you" that my husband plies me with when I'm forced to bring him food or clean up his dishes or take him to the shower or change the bedding.

I will never have a life. Between him and the autistic kid, there is no life. There is a crappy part time job that doesn't make a dent in the damned medical bills, there are the broken promises.

And the guilt - oh, let's not forget that! On top of being supremely pissed that I have become a physical and emotional service station, I also get the added bonus of feeling guilty for being mad that he's sick and disabled (possibly permanently but no one knows for sure), and that our son is clueless and lives in his head and is a complete life drain on me.

Yeah. That's the best part.

No wonder I score so well on all the depression tests.

I hate this.