Family good, crazypants bad

Mom told me the other day that she and my sister had talked some time ago about what will happen to me after Mom’s death. Sis is willing to take me in, which is amazingly generous, especially considering that her husband shares my diagnosis of schizoaffective disorder.  I am very, very lucky to have such a caring family. 

But it’s depressing to realize that I’m that family member, the disabled one whose future has to be planned for. Even if I manage to hold down a job at some point in the future, I can’t live alone.  It hurts, knowing that I need that much assistance.  That I’m going to be a burden on my family for the rest of my life.

I’m not planning to relieve the burden through suicide or anything. Some people do. I’m rational enough, and close enough to my family, to know they’d rather have to help care for me than lose me. And I do what I can to help them, as often as I can manage it. I don’t ever want to not have some usefulness. 

It hurts. But I am so goddamn lucky. Few people are. 

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