9th May

 Not sure I want to write this today.

Not sure I want to even poke at the dark hole there.

Yesterday was a bad day. Had a long chat with the vet in the morning about Ares. Long story short seems to be, Ares is an old man. Problems are stacking up. He's slipping away very slowly. And there's nothing that can be done for it. It is, of course, inevitable. Death, they say, is a natural part of life.

Well that's alright then.

He's on a bunch of different meds now. And. He seems for the most part ok. Old. Slow. Sleepy. Lost a lot of his hair. Skin condition is meh. A serious weird cough. Signs of an immune system struggling says the vet. Back legs keep going on him. And weak. Probably his bad lower spine.

I was ok with the vet. I know. This is a long time coming. And my bout of severe illness, I don't know, in a weird way it made it easier. Everyone dies. I am dying. We can go together. Maybe I will go before you. etc.

Some point afterwards I explained what the vet had said to Hazel. What the next steps were.

And I was sad.

And went down. And down. And down.

And stayed somewhere near the bottom for most of the day.

I went out to pick up some milk and bread in a half zombie state. I looked like a hobo. I didn't care. I stared into the distance not engaging. Numb. My tingles crawled. My ear screeched. I felt on the verge of collapsing. And my mood was black.

I hate this world. I hate this world. I hate this world. I repeated to myself. A burst of tears.

If someone did create this whole bullshit, some unlikely God. Then it's a cruel joke I thought to myself. I pondered that an uncaring random universe had just manifested reality as it was. No one at the controls of the bus. Perfectly feasible for life to exist and be an exercise in misery and suffering. An evolutionary pain point.

Hazel asked if I was ok when I was back at home. I didn't answer. Just. Twisted my mouth. Not really then she says. She gave me a hug. I struggled not to burst into tears.

I moped my way to 5pm. And went to bed. Vaguely ill. Tired. Miserable. So many dangerous paths in my head.

I considered that I did not want to continue with life. I did not want to get older. I did not want to experience more pain. I did not want to suffer any more. Please let me go.

Anyway.

I slept. Got up. Darkness still dogged me.

Just a bad day. Just a bad day. I repeated to Hazel.

Yes she said.

Watched some TV. It pulled me out of me into.. somewhere else. Allowed my brain to stop torturing itself. But it was pretty strong. I got sucked out of the TV a couple of times back into pain, before leaving it behind again. And by the late evening I was... not great. But. Meh. Not suicidal ?

Friday I spoke with the GP.

She had kinda forgotten where we were. We went over the neuro stuff again. Got a letter from neuro. It was sympathetic. "a torrid time" was the exact words somewhere in there.

A referral to a CFS clinic is indeed on the cards. We talked about the nerve issues. The mental health stuff. The fatigue. The dizziness. We're in a holding pattern. Wait and see. I turned down drugs to dampen the crazy nerves, the doc agreed, probably better to do without if you can manage it, because of side effects et al. But something that can be revisited if I am struggling to deal with it.

She noted I should try and work less. How many days do you work a week she asked. Four I said. But as Hazel pointed out, four is bullshit. Four is what I officially get paid for. Six or Seven is what I typically do.

The doc pondered if I was basically not recuperating due to work.

I had to darkly smile about that. And echoes what the iffy neuro guy said to me last April. Rest more. Work less.

Ho hum.

I saw an article a couple of days ago about a young mom that had committed suicide. The report was horrified because, just 2 hours prior heres her being happy and smiling. How can this be ?!

This is no revelation to me. No surprise. Have we not learned this yet ? Such things often do a tip top job of hiding from plain sight. You cannot judge a book by its cover. Repeat that with me. I know it myself. First hand experience. I also know it from being around plenty of others with problems. The Linkin Park guy was the same thing. A party shortly before. Then kills himself. Shock and confusion about how that could happen. But look at his eyes. Dead. A smile. But it doesnt reach his eyes.

I read an article a few weeks ago from a practicing shrink that basically made the same point. That even shrinks had a tendency to judge a book by its cover, and she noted it was a very poor clinical indicator that things were wrong. Her message to the psych world was that they must do better and not rely on appearance. Her conclusion was that by the time - if - you can see it, then that person is in a critical place already. Often too late. Her tentative solution was to *talk* to people. Not particularly about anything specific. But talk to them on a range of things. And you will end up seeing the darkness there. Behind a bright facade, all things are dark and miserable. All end points and horizons are bad places.

This rings true to me. Ask me those questions. And we will end up down a nihilistic hole devoid of light.

Well. That's not good.

I started methodically distancing myself again yesterday. No one can help. There is nothing you can do. You are on your own. No one wants to put up with your shit.

Rule #41. The darkness loves pushing the light away and isolating you.

I could write a book. It would likely be helpful. I do not have the energy or mindset to properly communicate what I know. Information that's not going to get out there.

Today. Will be a better day. And if not. The day after will be a better day.

A never ending war. Tired.