Bork Slowly Borking

 Last week was the final therapy session. The therapist didn't know it beforehand, but the presence of the sword of damocles over the last month was most definitely known. The week beforehand we had touched on the rift about the lack of listening, and then worse still, the lack of admission of that mistake in anything but glancing acknowledgements, and in general the failure of the machinery at that point. We talked by and large about other stuff. Which was fine. I had given that week its full air time. To see if the therapist had finally managed to get their words in order - but as it turned out they had nothing to say. Therefore. Last week was the last week. I had deliberated during the week about it. Pretty sure. 99% sure. But as the days passed I thought about it from different angles, before in the end, being very sure. Done. I expected the therapist to ask why. A. Stupid question really. But sometimes the therapist asks stupid questions. Just I think to get the words out ther...

 Felt ill the last few days. That CFS-y kinda ill. Doesn't seem to be shifting. A vague nausea that hovers in the background. A feeling of bleh. And the exhaustion. And the rest of it. Getting quieter. I have engaged. And chatted. And laughed.  But I am getting quieter. Harder to do each time. The mask is getting heavy. Today I was going to be quiet. But was pulled into chatting. Probably. Good for me. It chased off some of the forced quietness. But I felt ill again all day today. And I don't know. I am getting tired of everything. Even the last dregs of it are draining out. It is hard to describe. I think. It's the patterns. Something in there about therapy. About having to code switch to people. And I don't know if it's just where I am beyond tired. Or. Whether. Something in me has altered. Is altering. And I am less.. likely... to pull the energy up to do it. In an odd way. Perhaps. That need to do that. To have to rise to an energy level to match. Maybe kept me ...

 Therapy yesterday. The last session. "Last". I span out the therapy to this week because it was clear the therapist was struggling to articulate - they said this directly - and we had run out of time. So. Give it another week. Never let it be said that things were left half hanging. A sentence unable to be stated. As it turned out the therapist didn't have much to say. This is not a surprise. The therapist can lose the track a fair bit from week to week. It is one of their... non strengths shall we say. Concentrated continuity. They tend to operate on a more flighty general continuity rather than picking a conversation up from the week before. Which isn't super helpful here. We talked some initially about how I was doing. CFS being hard. Robbing me of life. "Opportunity cost". Taking away opportunities I might have otherwise had. And that I was at zero. With everything. Didn't want to continue existing. And that the CFS was clearly an enormous exacerbat...

 CFS is kicking my ass. I slept for a couple of days straight this week. Could not stop sleeping. Down in the depths. Everytime I came up, exhausted, a strong pull back into sleep. Around the clock I went. Work this week has suffered for it. Everything has suffered for it. Today I have felt stretched. Nothing is right. Existing is just suffering. There is nowhere you can sit. Nothing you can take. Nothing you can do. Not hydration. Not eating. Not resting. Nothing. Nothing helps. Sleep calls. Really strongly. The pains and headaches roll in and out. The exhaustion persists. The heaviness. Like sinking into the floor. Today I tried rallying myself by pure will. Play a game. Stream it. Force myself into a higher state. Difficult. I maintained for a few hours at a price. And then slumped. I cannot escape it.  Back to bed to rest. Sleeping in and out. And 3 hours pass like they were nothing. Like it was 10 minutes.  Exhaustedly I once again for the thousandth time wonder what...

 Sluggish today. Sleep has been cloying, muddied, deep. Each approach of the surface of wakefulness has come with an  ache  in my torso, that sucking, straining, ill feeling. It is an odd feeling. It feels "ill". Feverish without the temperature. A sickness. Without some of the paraphenalia, no stuffy nose, no sore throat, no temperature. But feeling ill nevertheless. And with that sticky, suffocating sleep. Waking has been mired in treacle and fog. Today I have struggled to do much useful at work. A couple of queries. A couple of checks. But the engine has failed to start. Despite me gritting my teeth. Repeatedly kicking it. It wouldn't start. And eventually. I fell into the inevitable. And slept. And slept. More treacle. More fog. Deep in some exhausted asleep state. When I circle in the shallow waters of still asleep, but somewhat aware I can feel it. An enormous weight and that illness. It takes a great deal of effort to surface out of it. It is easy. No effort. To gi...

 This. Is the hill the therapist will die on. Or perhaps it's the hill I die on. Today was therapy. And after a brief check of how I was doing - a bit of energy today - and how that was - like damocles sword waiting for it to evaporate. The therapist offered nothing in the way of reflection of the defensive session last week. No further thoughts. Business as usual. Ok. My lean was then, that this probably was the end. My lean was that way before the session. And starting the session. Just seemed to confirm that direction. I told the therapist we needed to have a difficult conversation.  I gave them my need. I need you. To admit a mistake. I didn't tack on the apology. Just. Admit the mistake. Correct. Move on. No caveats. No spin. Etc. The therapist was silent.  Why is that important for you to hear those words. Oh boy. Here we go. Because I said it is an indication that the... I rummaged around for the word.... machinery is working correctly. What do you mean machinery ?...