Bork Slowly Borking

 Weird space. Quiet. That same quiet since Feb. But stronger. I can slip on a mask and be someone else for a while. But it isn't me. That deep stillness pervades. There is a sense there of. A little. Anticipation. A little excitement. A little flutter. Standing on the shore looking out across an ocean of sadness. Melancholy. It shys away from the light. Seeks the dark. The quiet. Leans away from people. I am floating. When the distractions drop to zero, I am floating in a sea of black. I feel like, I could fly away into the night. Take off. Never return. There is nothing here on the ground. Illusions. And protocols, and dances, and stacks of little wheels embedded with insecurities and confusion and mess. This is not me. It was never me. This. Feeling. This is old. This goes way back to my childhood. That same sense of quiet darkness. It mixes an odd set of emotions that on paper do not belong together. I can see all that has gone before. I can sense the sadness and grief and loss....

 Eyes are bad today. Difficulty reading. Which makes the coding work I have been doing today more challenging than usual. But eh. At this point. I don't super need to see what I'm doing... blind chess is half my career. Still. Bad. My eyesight comes and goes. Which. Eh. In and of itself is not good. Just another one of those bullshit symptoms I suspect. I ran out of hydration salts end of last week. Been feeling it. I went out yesterday to pick some up. It definitely makes a difference. It could also explain my eyes today. They do much better with hydration salts. Part of the suspected hypovolemia dysautonomia malarkey. Therapy this week. Week 1 of 2 of our "closure process". I was ready to end it last week. But. Deferred judgement to the therapist. As the - amusing - recap. I am zen with ending it now. So. Any closure period would be about you really. No no. It's not about me. It's about you. Ok. Then I am done. Well. And consider the relationship. . . . . ( ...

 Pains are dramatically better today. Albeit they are up and down. An hour or two of super knifey. Then it fades back down to "uncomfortable". This is part of the "smell" of this not being your typical pulled muscle or achey back. It can rise or fall dramatically in the space of a day, sometimes sticks around for weeks. It is, I strongly suspect, part of the background of an over sensitised nervous system, combined with systemic inflammation, all tied into the clown car of CFS and dysautonomia. The rise and fall of a system in motion, and constantly reacting to "attacks". Meh. In any case. Today is better. Mostly. Copeable with. Sometimes not. The exhaustion is also better. I can, rather dramatically again, now move, reach for water, get out of bed, walk around. And I don't have to think about it. I am not failing. And having to retry. The difference is bonkers. And perhaps no brainer connected. I am less. "Final". Today. The spectre of an en...

 Exhaustion dipped hard today. It wasn't even a "terrible" day. Just. A bad one. It started... in a slightly more workable position. I got up. Tired. Sat on the computer. Slowly declined. Became very tired. And had to go back to sleep. Coming out of sleep... everything had gone very badly wrong. Hardcore exhaustion had piled on top of the tiredness.  Everything suddenly becomes incredibly difficult. Moving. Becomes a major effort. At one point. Lying on the floor of my bedroom - unable to move from that position. I reflected on the differences of this, to Tuesday when I had a "bit of energy" and went to retrieve my painting gear from Hazel. I checked myself lying on the floor. I could absolutely feel how "heavy" I was. It felt like I was trying to move a tonne in weight. With no strength. Which. Is probably about right. It's just that typically we take that kind of thing for granted. Like Tuesday. When that feels... difficult. But workable with. To...

 One of the recurring themes between Me and The World is the employment of boundaries. Or rather lack of deployment of them. My boundaries are shit. I don't say no to people. Not because I pathologically can't - there are absolutely times I will say no. But because by default I am laid back. Or in more detail. I am mindful of others, helpful, and almost never prioritise my own needs whilst being highly responsive to others. This. Is the childhood trauma as a foundational behavioural seed casting a long and looming shadow over present me half a century later, albeit honed and mixed with the ethics of being against suffering, understanding how hard life can be for people, and "doing my bit" to ease the way of those around me. Most of this stuff is intrinsic in me. I don't feel the lack of prioritising myself. It rarely surfaces as a conscious tension where I resent doing something just to stick to an ethical end point. When my patience hits zero,  something  resentf...

 Therapy this week. The last one. Allegedly. On Monday I was pretty zen with this decision. It really has settled out for me as a definite point to stop therapy because I feel like I've explored a lot of what's going on in this space with a years worth of constructive effort and it has given me a good sense of what works for me and what doesn't. I gave the therapist that high level kind of summary. Enough information I thought to give a bit of context to my decision. But. The therapist wanted details. Ok. I felt this was at the very least as much about the therapist as it was about me. I am zen with it. You are perhaps not. Which is ok. The therapist is human too. Albeit we get into the rather slippery space here of this supposedly being all about  me  and not about  them . In practice. It's not as neat as that. And I feel there are some unresolved tensions in there, not wanting to be something, and also wanting to be something. Pick a lane. Stick to it. But. People....