Today I almost lost it. For several years I have been doing OK (as far as I can tell), and keeping a lid on everything. We are kind of getting on with things. And I lost the rag and shouted a lot, and even cried in front of him – not a luxury I often allow myself. It only made both of us feel worse – me afterwards, and him at the time. He does everything he can do (which isn’t much, now) to make things right again. I understand that he picks up on my moods, so that doesn’t make me feel that great.

*Internet hugs* from people in the same position, whilst well-meaning, don’t do it for me.

We are getting to the stage where I have to ask for help from others. For two people who have been very independant all our lives, chose it so – no children, and he has no family – and have been happy in our own company until relatively recently, it is a difficult hurdle to jump. I have to decide how that happens and hope that I get it right. We are right on the cusp. Or, actually, I am. He is now so entirely dependant on me that

I don’t feel that my life has ended because of his disease. It is more a case of putting things on hold. It’s frustrating and sad, given the wonderful things we have experienced in our life together. But I feel hopeless at looking after him now. I do the pedestrian things – washing, clean clothes, cooking good food because we always used to, and occasionally getting out.

Still trying.