Sep 7

 Friday was a harder day. Slowly I am going backwards again. It took me until the afternoon to begin to feel less than epically shitty. As it turned out my friend arranged a time for the evening to go see her. So. I didn't have to move. Which I think was probably for the best. Even by 5pm I was very sub par. I had a nap, roused myself in the early evening, and then made my way to hers for tea and a lengthy chat.

Which was good. But sad. Always sad. I am followed by sad. I do not think I am great company anymore, if I ever was.

But anyway.

Today has been slightly worse again. Difficult to do shit. Played games for a chunk of the day, it takes my mind off of everything else when I can play with someone else. On my own games are far less effective. But even when sufficiently distracted, you can feel it there. Echoing in the background. A tug of unwellness. And drop out for a minute and you then fully realise it. Not good. But. Despite all that. I have had far worse than today. It's a fact that I live in a perpetual twilight of unwell these days. I no longer have a well day. I just have a less unwell day. Less unwell days. With a whole bunch of horribly unwell days.

I pad downstairs, the evening drawn to a conclusion. I tap the spot on the wall that still carries a single drop of my moms blood where she cut her finger. Hey mom. I get to the bottom of the stairs and tap the wall where a drop of Ares blood still rests from when he smacked into it. Hey Ares. But no Athena. I live in a house full of ghosts. And I have to fight hard to not get swamped by them or their memories. In the bathroom I desperately fight off feelings of missing Athena so hard that it hurts. Don't go there, don't go there, don't go there. They are all gone Johnny.

I pad back upstairs. Hollow. No reason to do anything. Just another day to get through.

I ponder what another 20 years of this would look like. And that maybe. Being ill now. Kicking the bucket now. Would actually be better. Better than 20 years of this. At least I can still get up and down stairs most of the time. At least I still have my marbles.

Anywho.

Just idly. I am not going to do anything. But yesterday I checked out how much it would be to go stay somewhere for a month. Go to Scotland. Stay up there. Not as much as you'd think. Just over a thousand for a month. Very cheap given the length of stay. At that rate. I could live up there permanently and still make money. Just. A different place. A different scene. Different people. Running away. Maybe I can find a different me. But I doubt it. Everywhere you go, there you are. My sadness isn't intrinsic to where I live. It is intrinsic to me. I think maybe, if I had some gentle company, I would do it. Go for a month. Stay in Scotland. My company wouldn't have to pay a thing. Or lift a finger. It doesn't seem like a terrible deal ? Hum ho. I probably need to expand my range of aquaintances until I start finding people that are cool to hang out with and would also be up for doing shit with me like that.

Given that I am in bed most of the time however, this is unlikely.

I think. I need. A stable kind of person. Who is fundamentally at peace with themselves. Easy going. Someone who I can chill with. And heal with. And just experience things with not on my own. But it's a hard ask. Because I am so traumatised at this point. It will take me years upon years to unwind all the damage, if even then. Sigh.

Still looking for a saviour that will never come.