Dec 29

 Eh meh eh, weird state of mood and mind.

After my sad period with thoughts of Ares, I noodled around, not terrible, not great. Started to wind down for the day in the early hours of the morning. And was hit sideways by even worse grief. And this one I couldn't pull out of the nosedive.

My feed is half full of boxers or dogs. Running around. Being goofs. It's nice. It's funny. It has an enormous underlying payload of melancholy for me. And of course, as is the way, here and there you get that awful sad story of when they go. And it's shit. And yeah. Here was a story of a new boxer. Replacing an old one. Same setup as Athena and Ares. Same problem as Ares. But gone when they were seven. Sudden. Blow out. Dead in hours.

And it wasn't that it reminded me of Ares so much. It wasn't so much the loss of Ares. But. Just that connection to how much pain there can be in the world. Like holding on tight to a mains live wire unable to let go whilst it fries you. And she wrote how the loss had destroyed her. That she couldn't think straight. And how terrible it was. And there was so much pain and loss and love in what she wrote.

And I don't know. But a switch flicked. And I know. I can remember. I can feel that pain. Just not in loss, but so many things. All of those losses in my life. So. Many. Of them. Every blow you take but get up again. Every parting. Every loss. Every bit of moving on. And you cope with it. And you adapt. And you rationalise. But I can list them all. A long litany of every time I am hurt, a book full of shit that I have just absorbed and move on, but I remember them all.

It hurts. Like a fucker. And doesn't go away. And is awful. And terrible. And each time I lose a bit of me until at this point I have nothing left anymore. Part of the reason I am burned out. And usually. I just deal with that. Oh, it's life. Ha. Ha. Fucking. Ha. And plod on.

But I dunno. The switch flicked. All of that grief, all of her grief, all that pain just washed over me. And I gulped for air. And in a sense I keep all of that shit behind a dam. It's not that I don't acknowledge it, or suppress it, or deal with it. I do. But it's there. It doesn't go away. And if I let it all out at once...

Ok. Ok. Ok. It's ok. Chill. Ok. Move on. Move on.

And the more I tried to put a lid on it. The more it wouldn't have a lid on it. An unstoppable tidal wave.

Make a cup of tea. Put the plate in the sink. Gasping. Literally. Like I am drowning.

I stuck my arms in the air. Because. Why not. Gulping down huge breaths of air. Staring at the ceiling. Like an absolute nut case. Not really with it. Just. Fucking lost in a mad sea of all consuming sadness. So sad. So sad. Tears. And gasps of breath. Crushing my insides. Scccrrreeeeeeaaaaammmmmmmmm.

Fuck this life. Fuck the world. Fuck the way things work. Fuck loss. Fuck death. Fuck all of it. I don't want to play this fucked up stupid shitty fucking game anymore, all it does is kick me.

Spiralling my dude a little voice inside me said. This is new and not good, you need to break out of it. 

I needed to talk to someone. Talking to someone can often break a line. Perform a reset. It's not a cure. It doesn't address shit all. But like hitting the reboot, it can take you out of that loop, and somewhere else. Maybe. Unless you just crash on reboot again.

Hazel was still up. So I pinged her. And got her to talk to me about her day. Her getting ready to see her boyfriend. I didn't talk. I listened. An emotional storm. Listening to her words like a lullaby.

Are you ok she says.

Yes. I quietly squeaked, voice choked with emotion.

Just. Sad.

I couldn't do more than monosyllabic.

Uh huh she said.

Eventually she asked if I was still going down to see my family.

Yeah. I said unconvincingly.

You don't want to go ?

No.

Then don't go.

I have to go.

You don't have to go. If you're not feeling good, don't go. You have to look after yourself first, otherwise you are no help to anyone.

Sure. But I have to go. I am ok.

Uh huh she said unconvinced.

I am ok. Just very sad.

Don't go. There are many of them. They are all adults. They are not your responsibility. You're not the only one that has to help. They can help themselves.

Sure..... yeah.... you're right. But. Not everyone is capable of that kind of help. And. You're right. But..... you start... to get..... into. If you can help. You should do so. It. Depends on the person you are. And. If you can help, you should.

You're a long way from them. They can help each other. It doesn't have to be you. You're not up to it.

Eh. Yeah. Sure. Never good though, is it.

In the end, Hazel needed a dog sitter for a day whilst she went to Heathrow and back. That and a minor cold I picked up. And. Me dragging my heels majorly. Fucky head. Fucky everything. I decided to tell my brother I would delay another day. A decision.

I came off the call with Hazel calmer. I message my brother there and then.

Only to find he was going to visit his daughter in law the day after in Norfolk anyway. So. Put it off to the new year maybe then ?

Eh. Ok.

Put it off period then I guess.

So I did.

And have stayed home.

I made my apologies to my nephew, I feel bad about not getting down there. It's important. Ho hum.

And so my days go.

Still super struggling with the sleep schedule shift. Awful. And I am sleeping so much. 15 hours no problem.

Part of the day I come fully alive. Awake. Ok. Stable. And for the greater part of the day I am asleep. Drifting. Unstable. Not alive. It takes me hours to warm up from sleep.

And all over I have an enormous lethargy on me. Energy sucked out from the souls of my feet. A melancholy dogs me. A vague hint of anxiety lurks in the background. And I find it hard to do anything at all.

It reads a bit like a super depression. Except. Some of the time in a 24 hour period, I am ok. Typically. A stupid hour o clock.

Hum ho.

The days blur past. The Christmas period threatens to be over. And the bullshit of work looms nearer and nearer. Meh.

My heart fluttered this morning. A weird feeling. Like a loss of consciousness. Like holding your breath and running out of oxygen, yet breathing. In the past this has worried me. This morning I just held onto it. If you're going to break, then break. Do it.

Mmmm hmmm.

Eh well. Needless to say, I am slightly fucky in the head at the moment. Apparently. Ho ho. Slightly fucky in the head. Pfft. I mean to say, MORE fucky in the head at the moment.

Mm mmm mmm. In other news. Streaming a bit. I quite enjoy just playing games for - almost - no one to watch. And in general, I am only ever doing it when I feel up to it. So. I am typically better all round when doing it. Strange. 

But other than the sads. Ah ha ha. I am not too bad.

Jekyll and Hyde.

Two sets of friends I know have got their relationships.. well.. back on track. And buried the shit behaviour and in some cases outright abuse ( different in each case, but much bemoaned about ). Swept it under the carpet. And pretended all is good.

I continue to be quietly amazed at the level of self bullshit people tell themelves about such things.

I have seen it time and time again. With a variety of utter bullshit stitches. Like having kids. Shit relationship ? Have a kid ! All is great ! Living the dream ! Until they weren't. And everything goes to shit. And the kids all end up fucked in one way or another. Traumatised. And walls go up. And rationalisations to self begin. And everyone pretends.

So fucking stupid. People. Are stupid.

And also. Again. That in the end. You really can't help people. They are going to continue to rub the cheesegrater of life up and down their face, bemoaning it hurts, before rapidly saying it's fine, and that cheesegrater face is perfectly normal.

No. It isn't. But continue self gaslighting. I am no longer arguing with you.

I give up. The tropes are tropes for a reason. The beaten wives protect their abusers for a reason. It's human nature.

One of my friends summed it up brutally neatly.

You're better off out of it.

Uh huh.

Jesus. If I had a pound for every bullshit lie to onself I saw people do. A pound for every bullshit rebound fucking relationship I ever saw. And then lie to themselves about. I'd be a whole lot better off.

It's depressingly common.

Also. This is why I think we all have a shelf life.

Because we accumulate too much baggage over the years. We are strangled by all the memories and pain and loss and blah. It becomes too heavy. Lobster syndrome if you like. Lobsters never die from aging. They are effectively immortal. Which is not to say they don't die. They die all the time. But when they don't die from disease or predation, eventually, they die because... well... they just grew too much. Their shells got too heavy. The energy required to keep going became too large. And they die, exhausted.

Maybe we're like that. An accreting brain. That slowly drowns under the weight of all its shitty experiences. We have a timer.