Dec 26

 Yesterday, in the scale of things, was a good day. 

Noodled about. Kept to myself. Made a very low effort roast dinner. Played some games. Watched something good on Netflix. Didn't feel awfully ill. Didn't feel awfully low. And the day rolled by stress free.

Which is as good as it gets for me.

Just a little under 2 years ago, I made a post on reddit, a last shot, asking the actual experts and the armchair experts, what was wrong with me, could they help. A bunch of good suggestions, empathy, sympathy, but ultimately, no breakthrough answers.

The other day I got a message from reddit. After 2 years of silence.

Someone checked up on me. How was I doing.

A random internet stranger. Just asking. How was I doing. We had a short chat. Back and forth. Sympathy. Empathy. They said I was a tough person. Ha. I don't think so.

But it was nice. There are random good people out there. The world can be shit. People can be awful. And flawed. But. Somewhere in there is also good. And caring.

Uh huh.

After a good day yesterday, I couldn't sleep. Dozed at best. Tossed and turned. And as happens in recent years. When I am not entirely fully awake. When my defences are not in good order, my practiced positions not as tightly held as they could be, my mood can plummet, and despair can spiral downwards out of control.

Whilst I get a lot of peace out of the oblivion of sleep. It has to be said that of late, my not fully ticking over brain is also horribly exposed to anxieties and darker shit. It's a problem.

This morning, debatable.

My head filled with Ares. It has been, very weirdly enough, exactly 500 days since I lost him. Exactly. My head filled with his worried face, collapsed at the bottom of the stairs after falling down them, unable to get up, sandwiched between me and Hazel, me stroking him and telling him it was ok, whilst my heart filled with horror and adrenaline and the depths of sadness unlike anything else as I realised this was it. This could be his last afternoon. And I struggled not to be sad in front of him, not to burst into tears, to instead be strong for him. So. Fucking. Hard.

5 hours later, he was gone. 12 hours after that I screamed my house down in a wail of pain that would not stop.

I will never, ever, forget those moments. Horrible. Awful. Fucked up. End of life moments.

I can't do it. It's a very obvious flaw in me. I cannot gloss over it or let it go, or move on. It haunts the fuck out of me if I even give it a sideways chance.

I miss my best friend terribly. As I miss many things.

And I hate death. And how everything fades into shit.

For me. It feels as if I have to shake myself clear. I have to accept a wilful ignorance, a forgetting of things that have come before. I have to play pretend that the world is an ok place. It feels like I have to desperately play pretend, ignore reality, and just go on as if none of that really hurts, or leaves me fucked up.

As much as I understand that is how the world works. And is normal. To me. It's utter madness. Insanity. That you can wilfully just move on.

Maybe it just comes down to intensity. Maybe, in my world, everything is dialled up to 11. And in my world, I cannot understand how anyone can let that go. But that's just me. My flaw. My quirk. That my dial is set so high.

Perhaps, maybe. A better way would be to say. That in my world. Those feelings are so intense that they can destroy me. That whilst it would be normal for those feelings to maybe never run that high, or fade, in me, they are stuck on a stupid high.

Perhaps that's it. Everything is just. Too high. Too painful. My state of misery at various times is perhaps then not irrational. But a rational response to a volume dial that wont come down. Screaming, is a natural response to being trapped in hell.

Perhaps.

I will not be sorry when I eventually cark it. Ironically. I'd ask you not to be sad for me. If you are still here. And I am not. Even though, by my standards, loss is awful, and yet here I am saying don't be sad. Life is painful for me. I do my best with it. I soldier on through, I put many defences down, employ strategies and fuckeries to keep it all at bay. But ultimately. Life is super painful for me, and at times, it is intolerable and pushes me right to the edge of self destruction. It's just the way it is. I am not afraid of death in the sense of not being here anymore. Far from it. On many days, even on good days, the last thing I think of before I sleep, is, oh god, please let me not wake up again, that it would be nice if I just closed my eyes once more, and that was it. In fact. In a funny way, on the better days, it can be quite strong. Oh. I am not suffering so much. It would be nice if I could just press the stop button right here. No more thank you.

I do fear, I think, suffering horribly before dying. In some cauldron of pain or misery or fear. I don't want that. It scares the shit out of me.

But if I could just switch off one day. I am more than ok with that.

So, when I am finally out of it. No more pain. No more suffering. No more anything. It will not be a bad day. I will have done my thing. Wandered around. Fucked about. Achieved nothing. And finally stopped. An infinitesimally unnoteworthy small grain of sand in an almost endless beach, winked out, no longer in pain.

And I will become for a short while, a small anecdote, a tiny memory, before shortly after that, disappearing for good.

Cheery.

Eh meh.

Maybe something nice will happen today.

You never know.

Life blows. Distract me hard enough, and I might forget that for 10 minutes.