Purging My Compassion

I have finally realized how much I've been suffering for the past year and a half. But do not pity me, dear reader. I have buried the suffering so deep with anger and resentment, that i don't need any sympathy. This is simply the cost of being a caregiver to a brother with schizophrenia. I will call it a kind of collateral damage.

For a good 30 years my primary intention was to break down the walls that I built around me during my first 20. My professional and personal life were dedicated to being compassionate and kind. In most respects that was the identity that I created for myself. My children and family deserved it. My patients needed it to succeed. I humbly think I did pretty well with it.

But since my brother took himself off his medication, I've had to slowly purge the compassion from my soul. To be clear, it is only a small part of my soul, but this has been a journey more difficult than grieving for both of my parents. How ironic that i have needed to rebuild the very same wall that I vowed to destroy long ago. It was as if I was betraying myself. However, it was a necessary step to progress forward. For both of us.

I am happy to report that there has been major progress today. Progress that was decidedly unexpected when I woke up this morning. My sharply tuned guardedness was not bending until he handed me all the keys and garage door openers to the house. He has officially moved into an apartment. This is just the first small step towards stability. Yet there is still a long way to go.

I still have not really cracked open the window in the restored wall. But now, at least the curtains have been drawn.