It’s only September, but we’ve already got the extra duvets out, more layers, all my thermals. My landlord has got some new heating device that looks like a whiteboard and will apparently save energy, but temperatures are nowhere near cold enough to turn anything on yet. I’m more worried about my dad spending winter in his house. He’s already living in a big jumper, a bobble hat and a woolly poncho. His place is freezing, it’s damp, it’s a health hazard, and in the middle of the city where there’s a lot of antisocial behaviour right outside his door – but he just doesn’t see himself as a vulnerable man. He has no insight into how fragile he is. I think – I hope – he’s on some sort of waiting list to be moved with his housing association and the council. You do all the paperwork, sign multiple forms, press send, but what happens next? Nothing. You don’t get any confirmation or information. Is there a website where I can look at what’s available? Is anything going to happen any time soon? I emailed to ask, “What happens now?” but no one ever replies. You can’t get an answer on the phone. I genuinely have no idea how anyone has managed to get a transfer. If I can’t figure out the system then Dad would have no chance. If he was doing this on his own, he’d be lost. It’s the same with his health. Dad has lost so much weight he has nothing left to lose, but we’re still waiting for tests. He keeps getting letters that say, “Your appointment has been cancelled, ring this number to rearrange it”, but when you call and say that he didn’t even have an appointment, you’re told the letters are automatically generated and there’s nothing to rearrange. For some reason, my job is running after these people, spending hours on the phone, trying to work it out. Does he have an appointment? Can he get one? What’s wrong with him? Will he die before he gets his treatment? All that good stuff. So services are on their knees, food prices are going up every week – you’re braced for it whenever you go – and then the government announces a massive package of tax cuts! What’s going on? I despair. How could it possibly make sense to give more money to people who have loads at a time like this? I can’t even think about it too much. I don’t watch the news and when I do hear about it, there’s fear, there’s rage, and when I get past that, I just feel really tired and sad and think: “You know what? I’ve got no kids. The misery dies with me.” That’s the only solace I have. I’m trying to focus on any good things instead. I’m going to a wedding at the weekend. I’ve had to put money aside for ages – the return ticket to Bristol is £30, then there’s drinks and stuff on the night. I bought a new dress on the secondhand clothing app Vinted – £7 including postage. The whole thing ends up costing a week’s worth of my budget, but I’m treating it like a holiday as I haven’t been on one for years. Back before I was a carer, in the days when I still had “beer money”, I seem to remember being more outgoing. I wanted to do more, to travel more, I wanted to see places, but after 10 years of looking after my dad, I stopped wanting to do so much anyway. Your life gets smaller and your horizons shrink. You’re housebound, cut off, you’re only focused on one person whose needs somehow take up all your energy and most of your life. I suppose it’s like having a baby, except no one’s happy for you! Literally, no one cares. I’m going to enjoy myself this weekend, though, and I won’t waste too much time thinking about what’s happening in this country. You get to the point where you’ve nothing left to lose. Siobhan is in her 30s and lives in the Midlands. Names have been changed