Fear, loneliness, struggle and a breaking heart: the words that most describe how I felt inside every day when caring for my mum.
Looking back now with a clearer head, how could no one see this? I mean, I was a mess. We were falling apart; I was struggling to cope, struggling to care.
People surrounded me as a campaigner, people encouraged me to campaign, people supported me to campaign yet at home nothing changed.
I tried to speak loudly yet no one seemed to hear MY cry for help. The thing that is a constant in my mind is "What about Mum?”
We had fragmented support, fragmented understanding.
I hoped from the crowd someone might recognise the mess we were in. I hoped from that crowd someone might truly hear what I was saying.
Was I a good bedroom campaigner? I don't know.
What I do know is I wanted to be a good son, a good carer and in amongst all the talking loudly and campaigning, this hope, this wish, suffered most.
Was I a good son and carer?
I truly don't believe I was, I just did not know how. I was lost; we were both lost.
My mum deserved better, better than I was able to give.
So this heart that was breaking will never truly heal.