May 12

 Another day. More ambush tears. More sad. Sometimes I am ok. Sometimes I am very not ok. In the background some all encompassing looming existential horror sits. Like you're sitting at the end of the world. But haven't quite looked out the kitchen window yet to take in the mushroom clouds on the horizon. Focus on making a sandwich. But whatever you do. Don't look up at the nuclear afterglow out the window and the end of civilization. Just think. This is a nice bit of bread. Don't. Let. The. Existential. Dread. Get. In. As the comic goes.

The Original

More representative of me

 

I have, in brief bursts, started talking to a few people. Just. Letting them know. A few things. A little explanation here and there. I am. Tentative about it. I am very aware it can be like sticking your finger into a gaping wound and having a rummage around. Does This Hurt ? Yes. Yes It Does. Stop That.

So in small doses. I relive the moment(s). Which. Isn't great. But people want to know how am I doing. What's gone on. So. Yeah.

My mind is still processing. A lot of the time it's blank. Numb. Overloaded perhaps. Dazed. Shocked. Is perhaps the word I am shittily groping for. In shock. At other times it is in an awful state of harrowing. And awful high emotion. The worst. As bad as it has ever been. The needle on the dial all the way over and stuck to the edge. Bad.

And at other times I am contemplative. A little. A few pools of thought. About everything. But above that lies that existential end of the world horror thing. It feels like I have lost my own life, as well as Athena's.

There is, within that. A growing sense of awareness of the darkness that may end up devouring me. That empty house. Empty space. No purpose. Failed adult. Growing horror. Ah. So. That's what it looks like. As things slowly reduce down, the shock slowly fades. The perhaps proper villain of the piece slowly walks into place. Whatever that is you want to call it. The deep hopelessness, listlessness, depression, misery abyssal hole.

It is very much like watching the weather change. From the absolute roaring hurricane. Things flying through the air. Catastrophe. Damage. Adrenaline. Smashed bodies. Destruction. And watching that storm slowly roll away, a cloying miasma creeping in behind it, quiet, suffocating and impenetrable. Less flashy. Less obvious. But in actuality, far more deadly. The real killer.

That's what it feels like at the moment.

I am getting flickers - perhaps in the ongoing prison riot that is going on for control of my psyche at the moment - of thinking I need a new focus, a new direction, finally do something big in my life. A change. Ignore the ill health. Assume you can get over it. Or work with it. Do something cool. It is. A very small flicker. And gets the living shit kicked out of it by the more realist denizens of the prison who sneer at such wishful thinking, and you haven't done shit to date, why would tomorrow be any different. You prick. Which. Is true. So in the end it just smacks to me of a small part of me desperately trying to offer an answer to the looming void.

In truth. I am in no real mind. Or mood to do shit. Not withstanding health issues. Or misery issues. I am not interesting in struggling and fighting.

Lying in the grey grass. Staring glassily up at the sky. And letting that dark earth absorb me. Is more where I am at. Let that creeping miasma steal over me. And strip the last remnants of me away.

It will take time. Not instantaneous. It seems for the moment I am not set on a sudden action of self destruction. A quick trip to the suicide plan. Which honestly is fairly surprising. But ok. But the slower sublimation into nothing. Ah. Now that. Seems to be the particular poison of choice.

Who knows.

Everything is still in turmoil. My head is fucked up beyond measure. My capacity for a bit of even keeled straight thinking is somewhere out of sight over the horizon. All I have is crazy waves and full on subjective high emotions. No place for any kind of foresight or planning. It's the place of life jackets and hanging onto the railings. Not of sitting down and doing your taxes.

Sigh.

I am afraid of the future. Truly. I am scared. I don't know why. But I am. The animal bit of me perhaps. Scared of oblivion. I don't know. Scared and alone. That is how I feel. As has been pointed out in the past, and I do grok, emotion and rationality are entirely different beasts. Feelings don't always need to make sense. Or be logical. Or have an explanation. They can just be. You can maybe try and rationalise them. Figure out they why and wherefore. But it is like using Chinese, to spell out English. They are different unrelated languages with only some high level shared aspects of experience. 

I feel scared and alone, fearful of the future. Of myself.

I suppose. Rationalising. The loss of your companion. Is liable to do that.

Today. One of my poking at the wound conversations was with my sister. Asking how I was doing. Uh huh.

Hard to deal with. Why do I find it harder to deal with. Why is it so catastrophic to me. I threw out a rough quasi piece of pop psych. Perhaps. It is the enormous hole in me where love should have been in childhood, that makes the loss of something truly loving in my life be even more horrific than it should be.

For the record. My sister agreed. That shared wound of our upbringing.

Not that it makes it true. Or correct. Now perhaps, instead of one idiot ( me ) pondering that my lack of love, affection, or any kind of emotional security as a kid has had a pretty devastating impact on me as an adult, we now have two idiots ( myself and my sister ) thinking that.

Or perhaps, it's right. My fucky stand on your own two feet, fuck you upbringing. Has left me very vulnerable as an adult. A bottomless pit of need for love and being close to people. I can. Actually. See that. I do have a weird draw to be close to people. Lots of people. I like to "feel their heartbeat". Watch them breathe and sigh in and out with their lives and emotions. I want to see all of them. The good, the bad. I want to know them truly, be close to them. This. Is very possibly. One of the impacts of not having that security as a kid. Craving that closeness as an adult. Hungry for it. A massive debt. A deficiency. That wants to be made up for.

Maybe. Probably.

It has made me very fragile in certain ways.

And stupid strong in others.

But the fragility is bad. Existential threat bad. It should not be there. It should not have happened. It is a great shame I was brought up in that environment.