Jun 23

 Same shit. Different order. Scrambled variables.

I wenr swimming again on Friday. And then. Hit up the coast in the early evening with Hazel.

After some thought, walking up sandy dunes was probably not a great idea with my dodgy foot. But. I went anyway. Fuck it.

 

The beach was lovely. And Poppy was lovely. How I miss a dog. Jesus. And Poppy loves me. Embarassingly so. She gravitates to me and ignores Hazel. I speak good dog. I am gentle where Hazel is scolding. I oh so gently told Hazel she didn't need to shout at Poppy. She was ok. Just being a dog. It's ok.

It was a nice evening. Hazel became a little aggravated on the way home. No good reason why. Just. A little snarly as she sometimes gets. And sometimes gets worse. I think it would have got worse. But by the time it could develop any further we were home. I wont get into it. But she was difficult.

She has in the end decided to ignore her dad. I don't even think she's said no to him outright in response to him asking if he could come see her. She will end up losing him. She burns all her bridges in the end.

One of my friends noted it was good that I was getting out. Positive sign. Doing things.

I did not tell them that it wasn't that simple. I didn't tell them of the shit that also occurred on that day. I just said uh huh. And left it at that.

I am finding that I have lapsed again into silence about the negative things I am going through. I have just stopped talking to people about it. This is my only actual truthful outlet of that.

On that same day, to the beach. Whilst in the pool. I fell into a horrible hole of sadness. So sad. At one end of the pool. Floored by emotion. Unable to escape it. The moments of Athena's last walk 10 meters around a bit of grass, a sniff, a look back to me, where are you, what are you doing. It crucified me in the pool. I don't know where it came from. But it did. And it was awful. And I could not shake it. I talked to myself. I tried distracting myself. Then working through it. 

So very very sad.

And the guilt. Was enormous. That I had killed my girl. Just like I had killed my boy. And no matter what anyone says about a kindness or the right thing to do, I know, that she loved life like nothing else. And I don't think she would have chosen that exit. I could not ask her. I could not save her. It is my fault.

So.

Yes.

Far from Friday being a day of me getting out and about. And being positive.

Yeah.

No.

Do you think the darkness does not fucking stick to me ?

Do you think I don't still fucking walk a path of damnation and horror and shit ?

I stick a fucking neutral expression on.

I put one foot in front of another.

I carry on.

I can appear normal for spurts.

But I am hollow inside. My heart has died. I have no purpose. No direction. No hope. Only full of sad memories.

But I say none of that.

I just bottle it up. And say nothing. And people feel better. They feel better. They worry less. So that's ok.

I walk this path alone. Not by choice. It's just how shit happens.

I will say this. After a better evening by and large after the beach. I got home. And sat. And considered right there, a slightly better place, to just commit suicide. Go down to the bath. Sit in it. A push a knife through my left arm. Calm. Clear. Even tempered. Just. End it. Because, I knew, that the screw would turn, and this was a relatively better bit. Better to go out feeling a bit better than wait and go out when it was shit. The end is nothing something I fear. It would be a relief.

But the fear of pain and suffering or it not working is something that sticks with me. Ironically. My trauma with all the shit I've been through now makes me less likely to end it all in a painful way. I absolutely positively do not want anymore pain. And I know that most if not all the options there would be ugly. Painful.

But. It is a tenuous hold. Based on which way the wind is blowing. And if one pain, trumps the pain of suicide, then suddenly, that sum changes. The lesser evil.

Again. For the umpteenth day. If you were to give me a painless pill. That I would sleep and never wake. I would take it today. I would take my time. And noodle away the day. And then when I got tired. I would put the TV on. Lie down. And take the pill. No doubt. No second guessing.

I am hollow. It would be a relief. And I would miss all the things I miss, no more.

Sigh.

I am still, lost.

On Friday I also finally spoke to the CPAP people. A charity. Up in Hull. They were lovely. Exactly what you would from a health care response. A pity then that it's a charity that offers this service and not the NHS. It is another stark difference between the sausage factory and an actual caring compassionate service.

Anyway. They were very helpful and very caring. Tomorrow - Monday - they will ship out all the CPAP gear. Help me set it up, monitor me, and yada blah. And I guess we will see how that works out. Another tick on the list. Yes this is a problem. No this isn't a problem. That it's a problem is not in question - otherwise I wouldn't have a prescription for it. How much of a problem it is, and whether it is the defining factor in all my other shit is an open question.

At one end of the scale it could prove to be a minor benefit to my sleep. But otherwise have no effect. Just another bit of deckchair arranging on the Titanic. Except the absolute benefit would be that knock down of yet another possible cause and symptom. The methodical step of checking it out. Important.

At the other end of the scale it could prove to be the major beast in the room. A lack of oxygen strangling everything and making every other symptom either worse of be the root cause of it.

Which it turns out to be, don't know until I try. The odds are that it's probably towards the minor benefit end of the scale rather than the major one - just because of how severe I have it - or rather don't have it. But the confidence of that prediction is poor. Because the amount of data I have for just how shit my apnea is, is very poor. 

So anything is possible.

We shall see.

My low level expectation is that I will use it, not see enough of a benefit to put up with it, and stop using it. I am super not thrilled at the prospect of having to use it to sleep. At all.

Also.

I have an appointment through for the X Ray of my foot. July 4. My foot has been grumbling, and the walk on the beach made it grumble a lot. But over the weekend it has been a lot better. I have actually been walking around barefoot at times in the house - which in the past 4 months or so has always been the final straw in me going back to square one with it. It has grumbled again today, and I have erred on the side of caution and used my padded slippers.

I have spent a bunch of today once again looking backwards at life. Athena haunted me again today. I looked out over the rooftop and the ivy growing there. And saw Athena rubbing her face against it. Perched on the roof. And then I saw Ares standing with her. Both of them looking out across the gardens.

The roof was empty. Nothing there. Just ivy. And all those things lie in the past. The now is just empty. With no life. And I am left looking at shadows.

And from there, off and on. The past has haunted me today. Mistakes. People. Relationships. When I wasn't ill. When I was doing so much. All gone.

It is bad. And I know it is bad. The dwelling on it and constant looking back. It will in the end do me serious damage.

I feel like in many ways I am now very much damaged goods. That stain of misery is now soaked in deep and it is part of who I am, or perhaps even, all of who I am now. My mental dysfunctions are now just who I am. An error. A stuck problem. I know what that looks like. I have seen it in others where it overtakes them and becomes all of who they are. I think it has happened to me too now.

I spoke on Saturday at length with an old friend. She was upset. At the end of her tether. She had hesitated to talk to me knowing I had so much shit going on myself. That's ok. It's never a problem I said. I listened to her and empathised. Hard. Much of what she said and was going through was so familiar. I did my very best to listen and support. To not interject my own bullshit. Or even inadvertently trivialise her pain. I do find my understanding and learning of the basics of counselling and how to handle shit, and the understanding of a lot of different suffering has enabled me year on year to be better at that. Don't say this. Don't do that. Listen. Support.

I could not fix any of her problems. Also, rule #3, do not try to always fix problems. Listen and sympathise. Do not sit and lecture or problem solve or minimise. I did not know the answer to her problems. Her problems were alike with my problems. Life. The point. How to deal with insurmountable odds. People being shit. No understanding. No sympathy. Being alone despite physically not being alone.

I understand. I ache with how much I understand. I have no answers for myself. I had no answers for her. Other than I understand. I am sorry. I am here. I am listening. I can hold your hand - virtually.

Life has meandered in such a way that many people I know are now isolated. Isolated by geography. Isolated in relationships. I do not fully understand how all those paths have ended up in the not great places they are. Once upon a time it seemed much more positive. There was time. And opportunity. And things seemed better .Now. It is worse. Time has run out, or is running out. Things are bleak.

Perhaps a corner will turn and the sun will come out again - at least for some of us.

I wondered out loud to my friend if this was just not a part of us all getting old. This was how getting old looked like to us all. Isolated. Ill. Relationships cracked. Failing. Perhaps. This is how our generation, or thereabouts, goes through that transition to old age. It was different for our parents. Very different.

I don't know. Perhaps it is not. Perhaps it is just bad luck. And the bad luck of the current state of the world. Stupid prices. Wealth disparity. A dying heating up world.

I do not have concrete answers.

The only vague truth I hold onto is the importance of the people that are important to you. The ones that give a shit. The connection. I don't know. As all the lights go out and the darkness settles, I think, when it comes down to it, all you perhaps have left is the someone that can hold your hand. And at the very least, you can feel them sitting there with you, not alone in the dark.

But even that. Flickers and dies. We are isolated. And distant. And busy with our own bullshit. And nothing.

I do often daydream I said. Of having so much money it was stupid. And buying one or more huge houses. With plenty of rooms. And lots of grounds. Where I could assemble all the waifs and strays that I knew. Those that needed rest. And help. And a hug. And they could come and go as they pleased. And we could all support each other. And it would be a bubble of something against the shitty outside.

But it's a daydream.

I don't have that money.

I know my friend to be very strong. But also. It's not helpful. To say that. When someone is wiped out. Even the strongest can be laid low. No one is invincible. I have learned that lesson in so many ways. The starkest of all being my mom. And her fragility and need for someone not to tell her she was strong. But to say they understood. How shit it was. And they would be there for her. She didn't get much of that. Just. You're strong. And a fighter. It is cold comfort when you are wasted on the floor. It can be.. almost.. hurtful.

So I know my friend to be very strong. But I was careful to say that I understood how shit it was. And how much she needed to rest. Breathe. Have help. Which was the only advice I could give her. Rest. Stop. Be kind to yourself. Know that you need to give yourself a break for a while, stop, put things off til tomorrow. Or the day after. And that sometimes, a little time, is all it takes for things to get a little better. And when things are a little better, even though it doesn't feel like it right not, even though it's utterly shit right now, I knew her to be confident, and strong and a fighter.

It is. Perhaps. The most awful thing of all. To see those you know who are strong and tenacious. To be brought to a point where they are wiped out. And they stumble. It's like a stark comparison. Out of character.

I don't know the answers to any of it.

A stupid amount of money would probably help. It always does. Money is not the answer. Money is not happiness. But sometimes it can definitely lubricate getting to somewhere better.

It is late Sunday evening. I am writing this. I am calm. Sad. Calm. That numb kind of calm. Sitting in a little capsule. Lost in the middle of an vast ocean. Stormy skies. Crashing waves. The terrors of the deep. And I am in a little capsule. Just humming a distracted little crazy tune, staring at the white walls of the capsule. Things rage around me. The end of all things. And I am sitting in that little capsule. Wondering whether it will break and I will drown. Or the storm will subside. Or I will simply die of thirst, of hunger, forever lost on the ocean. Or I will wash up somewhere I don't know.

I have no clue.

I am lost in every sense of the word.

I am still just... counting time. Looking backwards at everything there was. And the nothing I have.

It cannot go on forever. Eventually even that holding of breath will run out.

You cannot live in a limbo state for ever. There must, eventually, be a reckoning.

Perhaps not.

Just go on.

Purgatory.

That's it. Exactly. Purgatory. That is where I am.

Ho hum.

Happy happy. Joy joy.

Another day tomorrow.

Thrilled.