I had to stand it, somehow. I had to make decisions. I had to get my mother back in bed in the middle of the night when she got up to go to the bathroom and forgot she needed a walker. My parents moved back into the master bedroom together for the first time in many years so dad could help her in the night. But he never woke when she got up, only when she fell. I never got an entire night's sleep because somebody always needed something in the night. And, I continued to drink.

Finally, it all got the better of me, and I quit. I asked my son to take care of the parents for a couple of days so I could puke and shake and sweat and so forth. He agreed, so I did it. Cold turkey. and it sucked big time. but I did it. and about a week later, things started to go to hell.

Later, a doctor told me that it was a known thing, psychotic break after quitting drinking. I don't remember a whole lot about that time, but apparently I was doing weird stuff. I applied for a loan to get a new roof for our house. I yelled at the coin man. I couldn't write or spell or dial a phone. I ended up in the psychiatric hospital, taken once by my son, once by my friend Alan, and I was so weird. Even before the initial diagnosis of bipolar years before, I was never so screwed up. Even after I got out of the hospital, I was really no better. None of the anti-psychotic drugs worked. None of the sedatives worked. Nothing. So I got put back in the hospital. Calmed down after a while, went to follow up rehab. Back in the hospital. back to follow up rehab. and then my dad died, all of a sudden. I went to tell him dinner was ready one night and found him with a mouthful of blood, struggling to breathe. Two hours later, he was dead.

I was fine, I dealt. And then my mother really lost her mind. And my brother decided that I had the nursing training and the availability to care for her all by myself.

My son worked overnight, so he was asleep all day. My husband has a brain injury and accompanying physical disabilities, so he was no help. And my mom hated him, so was he inclined to help? Notsomuch.
I never blamed him. And her mental status disintegrated without Dad to center her, and her physical condition deteriorated because she wouldn't eat, and she continued to fall. She refused to leave her bed. She didn't know me anymore. And my pleas for help fell on deaf ears.

This is too hard. Need more bourbon--