There are many carers – some chose it as a career path, others didn’t. As a carer, I’ve found support seems to vary depending on the disability of the person in need, whether it be physical, pathological or psychiatric. And as funding continues to be cut, these resources are becoming more and more difficult to utilise.
I am carer for my gorgeous daughter, Jessie who is now 15. She started having problems regulating her emotions at age 8. At age 10 she was diagnosed with, and medicated for, a triad of mental health issues. She went from a happy, outgoing, confident kid who loved school, to a kid that had explosive, violent outbursts, needing Police intervention.
Everything I write is based purely on my own experiences and my personal interpretation of any researched information.
As a carer I’ve come to know of many resources. I won’t say it’s been easy getting help for Jessie though – she’s been “too young”, “too violent”, we’re “out of area”, “we no longer have someone available for Jessie”, “the wait list is too long”, etc etc. I’ve heard it all. As such, at times I’ve had to fight against the system because dealing with government agencies I’ve found to be politically based and not often in the best interests of the people they affect the most.
We have had some incredibly dedicated and experienced people work with us. One in particular earned my daughter’s trust and respect which made her invaluable. Through our hardest times came the most growth thanks to Stella, our caseworker from the Benevolent Society. Jessie couldn’t rock her, and Stella enjoyed Jessie’s quirky personality and raucous laugh.
I hope that writing will be therapeutic for me, but I’m also hoping that by sharing our not-so-perfect life, others won’t feel as isolated as I have at times. Sometimes just knowing we’re not the only ones experiencing similar situations or hardships is enough to reduce our anxiety.
I try to see the humour wherever I can find it, and I’m mindfully grateful of at least one thing each day, no matter how small.
Don’t be ashamed of your story, it will inspire others.
A couple of months ago Jessie asked me to buy more rock salt. Assuming we were out so bought a big bag. Jessie thanked me and went to take the bag into her room. I made the mistake of asking what she wanted it for. She lost it and stormed off into her room, slamming her door a few times, just in case I hadn’t cottoned on to the fact that she was angry. I got up the next morning to this note on the fridge. The following morning had my question answered. Very amusing…