Jul 23

Anxiety seems like a permanent thing at the moment. Occasionally it takes a morning off. But it doesn't stick. And I can feel there is something very wrong with my mental state. It is hopeless.

Athena of late sticks in my head. 2.5 months since she was here. And now I am finding it harder than ever to get over it ? It is not that it makes me wail into tears anymore. That at least has dulled. Although. I don't push at it. But a deep sense of loss has settled into me. A dozen reminders every day. She is gone. I am alone. It is very heavy. I often catch myself thinking that Athena would have enjoyed something. That Ares didn't see this. That Athena couldn't have experienced that. I miss them greatly. And their zest for life. Their character. Their antics. Their judgement. Dogs have such characters to them, and boxers, are up there as the most characterful. Losing them is terrible.

Today as I trudged down the stairs the thought floated across my head that if I am not enjoying myself at all, then ending it is ok. I know I have said that before. But today. It was so calm. And so rational. Like a relaxed chat. And it clicked. Yes. Of course. I could just do it now. Grab the kitchen knife. Go into the bathroom. Lie down. Slit your wrist. It would be ok. It's just the end of the end. Let's do that. Right now.

By the time I got to the kitchen I had pushed it out back. Stop it.

But it was chillingly ok. It felt so achingly right. Of course. In me at any rate, it always does. That's the point. It builds until it is utterly compelling. Everything agrees. Yes. This is the thing to do.

I stuck the rubbish out front today. One of Athena's old ripped up beds now in the bin. She used to use some of the scraps as a pillow of sorts in my bedroom. Cleaning stuff out. I threw it in the bin. As I opened the bin to put more things in, I gazed at that ripped up bed and froze. So familiar. So many memories. Now sitting in a bin. Everything associated with it now ashes.

There is something wrong with me. I cannot let go. I cannot get past the enormity of loss and change and the things that "dont matter" anymore. Others seem to be able to do that. I cannot. Clearly that bit of my whatever you want to call it, empathy, neuroticism, care, overthinking, just doesn't work. It destroys itself in the face of something terrible. Unable to properly cope with it and move on.

I don't know.

I am very sad. Very hopeless. I see nothing that will change that. I am trying to get out. And do things with people. And swim. But it's fakery. On top of the actual horrible reality. I am finding it harder to justify just trudging on. To what end ? For what purpose ? So everyone else isn't sad when I go ? I find that hypocritical for the most part. People are unwilling to actually get off their arse and do something. Give a shit. But will then wring their hands afterwards. Liking charity as a concept, but doing shit all for it. Pining for a better society, but unwilling to change a single fucking thing in their lives. Perhaps I am being very harsh and a little angry. Perhaps it's a reaction to the lack of support I get.

People are going to people. They always have. They always will. Everyone is flawed.

And I suspect even if I did get more support. I would need so much love and energy poured into me at this point that it would be like a bottomless pit. Traumatised. Needy. Fucked up. Anxious. Jumpy. Maybe not. But I feel very damaged.

No way out.

No way out is always the start of the wall your back is up against when suicide heaves into view. Because there is always one way out.

I shall endure. Until at least the hour or the minute that the wind changes, and all that sane talk of ending it becomes a sudden reality. 

Something made me smile yesterday. Someone had posted a short video of them and their new young boxer. The commentary said something along the lines of, not being a good idea to tie their mental stability to something that lives a shorter life than they do, but here we are. Made me smile. Yeah. Tricky.