Mar 19

Yesterday was eh, ok, approximately speaking.

Not great by a long shot, but eh, copeable.

I spent most of it staring into space. No motivation to do shit. Like anything. No TV. No Games. No art. No noodling. Nothing. Zip. Zero. Nada. Just. Stare into space. And not in a relaxed enjoy the day kind of way. More a zombie like, stare at a single point kind of way.

Hmmm.

I had to go out for a chiro appointment, and then went for a walk with a friend in the afternoon. Which probably helped me out. But I got home and returned to staring into space. In the end I just leaned into it, relaxed and switched off. Fuck it. Stare at the wall like a lunatic. It's ok. We are more than familiar with acting like we belong in a nut house, right ? Ah ha, yes. Mm. Yes. Uncomfortably. Yes.

At some point late afternoon I decided on a whim to wash the windows. The old Sahara dust had done a number on them and coated them with a red patina.

Got the window washer gimmick. Got the bucket.

All of Ares meds were in the bucket. From his last week. Pills. Lotions. Potions.

I. Am guessing. That Hazel cleared them all off the side and stuck them in a bucket and then hid it and forgot it was there.

I am for the record, mostly ok with Ares old stuff. I have his dog tag on my keyring. Which. Can be variable when I dwell on it. But I am fucked if I am leaving it. If I could I would burn it into my heart. Sometimes I come across his collar. His lead is always visible. It's ok. Sometimes some of his toys make me wobble a little. One of the last memories I have of him is him hoarding 3 new toys, unsure which was his favourite. Which can be a tough memory to deal with. He was being so sweet. Tired. Not well. But enjoying his toys.

So I kinda thought I was mostly immune to that stuff.

It turns out I am not.

I saw the meds.

Hmm.

I picked them out one at a time. Each one brought the memory of what it was for. And what we were doing.

The rattle of the pill bottle so familiar for 6 months. Was back.

Hmm.

Ok.

Ok.

I suspect this is not good. Like the tide pulling back before the tidal wave hits.

I. Stopped what I was doing.

Ok.

Ok.

Messaged Hazel. Found Ares meds.

And then the tidal wave came. I posted a message on Facebook. Because. I dont know. A cry before I drowned perhaps. Instinctive. Help !

And then I spiralled out.

Sad. So. So. Sad. Everything like it was 5 minutes ago. The same repeated torturing of myself. I repeated out loud to myself that I was so sorry. I am so sorry Ares. Over and over again. Each iteration a different nuance. Sad because I couldn't save him. Sad because I walked him to his death. Sad because I have no power over that. Sad that he trusted me and I betrayed him. Sad that he was no longer here. Sad that I missed his loving face. Sad. Sad. Sad. Sad.

And cried and cried and cried.

And zoned out. Disassociated. Went numb. Then repeated. Tears and tears and nuts.

I lost track of time and how I got to be where I was. Somehow I had moved rooms. I wasn't sure of what I had done in the last 30 minutes. Everything had dissolved.

As I started coming back up. I reflected my life, my experiences, were so often at the hurtful end of the spectrum. How often did I experience joy. How often sadness. Always. Sadness. And despair. No one in their right mind would sign up for this. Insanity. Who would do it. I realised I was tired of being this way.

I cried some more. Time skipped. Staring into space. Athena came along to check on me. She looked at me. Oh no. She engaged it will be ok protocols. The happy yet nervous tail wag. The paw. Face stuck in my face. Wiggly butt. This is doggo consoling. It's ok. Be happy. I love you.

It passed. Kinda. Receded into a dull glow of sad.

Once upon a time there was a kid that was full of possibilities and ideas and making stuff. So many cool things to make and do and come up with. A world full of games to make. And adventures to be had. Somewhere along the line, most of that drained away, to be replaced with sadness and despair. Suffering. Misery. I can hardly remember what that used to feel like. A whisper of a memory.

Perhaps I have lived too long.

I do very much understand how someone can get to the point where they have lived long enough. Like my mom. I understand. And I am sorry.

Shit happens. Life. No guarantees. Pay your money, have no choice, get fucked. For the majority of us.

Cheery.

I think in many ways I am not a properly functioning adult at this point. Sure I can do some adult stuff without even blinking. But. By and large. I think I'm more of a supporting character than a main character. I think I need to live around someone elses structure of a life. If that makes sense. Secondary. Tertiary. The pot plant philsophy. Stick me in a quiet corner, and I will just sit there. Like a house plant. Intellectually. This reeks of trauma response. Too much. Too hurt. Curl into a ball.

I am not sure how I change the direction of this path. Or if it's even possible. Or possible in this world. I do not sit happily in this world. With its commercialism and greed and capitalist reaching for everything. It's not me. At all. It makes it very much harder to find peace. Without all the shit about loss. And meaning of life.

Life is hard. Anyone that tells you otherwise is full of shit.

Life is suffering as the saying goes. It's just giving meaning to the suffering that makes it worthwhile. "Worthwhile".

Ah well.

Tomorrow will be a better day.

And. I'm. Ok. Today. Ok. Ok. Keep saying it, it will sound genuine at some point. Eh. I'm ok. I've had worse. I am functional.