Dec 29

 I feel so ill all the time. The period after waking up is often the worst. I feel truly terrible. I always have bloodshot eyes. Sometimes I can "feel" them because they are also stinging, sometimes I can't. The shadows beneath my eyes deepen.

I have moments where I feel a bit better on some days. And sometimes I can push myself to do a few things.

But generally, I am just really ill all the time.

I realise I have become mostly bed bound. Not entirely. I get up and noodle a little. But mostly.

When I take a step back and look at the trend across time, it is grim.

As I said to my friend just before Xmas, whatever it is I have, it's progressing.

At times it crushes me mentally. The hopelessness is real. But I just feel so ill that I don't want to do anything, don't want to continue. It's a bleak existence. At other times I can shake myself off, grit my teeth, and just get on with it. But like earlier this year when I realised I was suffering from trauma from being ill, it doesn't matter if I can at times just suck it up and get on with it, it takes its toll whether I struggle on or collapse. The underlying reality is always the same, and my attitude to it doesn't alter it.

How long can this go on before something fundamentally breaks - meaning I can no longer even just struggle on. The critical point of failure, death. I have no clue. As ever it feels like it can't be far off. But I am perennially surprised by just how well my tortured body can hang on for.

Hazel is due over today. Boy do I feel like absolute garbage and not up for hosting anyone. But I will do it. And if necessary just go back to bed.

Yesterday I did my good deed for the day. Someone was struggling with depression. And I gave them some empathising words. They came across as the familiar shape of the distress in someone. Including the negative thoughts that they should be happier because they had this, or that, and a roof over their heads. The very common refrain. You can't be miserable. You have a roof over your head. Like a roof is somehow a guarantee against any kind of misery. Of course it's not. And even some of the wealthiest most privileged people suffer from misery or take their life. In fact the stats say it doesn't matter what your socioeconomic background is. Depression and mental health problems occur at the same rates no matter what your bank account says. Science. Data. That tells you that money definitively does not buy happiness. As much as this can be angrily rejected by people without money - but not because it's not a fact, but because the anger stems from them not having money, and their hope, dream, understanding is that money will fix all their problems, and how dare you challenge that worldview, that very desperate coping mechanism. This too is very common and part of human nature. People do not do well when their beliefs are challenged.

Happiness wise, you might tentatively go one step further and conclude that money, stuff, materialism actively makes you unhappy, which I wont get into, suffice to say, you should see in the data an uptick in depression at the bottom amongst people who can't cover their bases, and a better result at the top. This isn't the case. The pressure at the bottom is real - environmental depression. Which means there must also be another different pressure at the top of the pile / other points of the pile too and it is connected with your socioeconomic status that is equivalent to that environmental depression of not having your needs met. If it wasn't, again, you'd likely see an improvement in happiness as you go up. You don't. You can probably take a half educated guess that it's something to do with realisations that money doesn't do shit for you beyond meeting your necessities, it does nothing to give you decent support networks which is actually very important for happiness et al - in fact it does the opposite and corrodes those networks, and all in all is very isolating. In other words. It's lonely at the top. ( If you read what the shrinks to the very rich have to say, this actually seems to be the case. Lonely. Isolated. Miserable. Plagued by fair weather people after their piles of money. If you want a poster child for this, look at Elmo who sinks to the behaviour of creating fake twitter accounts to tell himself he's a great father and a worthy human. He has tried to buy being liked, and social connection and status, but it is the one thing his money can't do for him ).

Anyway.

So much shit.

The bottom line.

I offered a kind word for someone suffering. They pinged me later and thanked me. My words brought them to tears. They took some solace in what I said.

It is the tiniest thing. Not impressive. Not great. Not amazing. It is the tiniest nudge of care in an uncaring world. But it is something. And I did that. And despite being ill and shit and pretty worthless. I made a tiny difference to someone.

And that's not bad. Well done Johnny. Not 100% useless. You can go back to sleep now.

Also.

As the person contacted me directly. There is a little insight there into why my "type" all turn out to be troubled, complicated, people. And my relationships are all "neuro spicy". Part of it, but not all of it, is because I make a big effort to reach out to people who are in pain or suffering or are "different". If they are none of those things. I am quiet. And do not put myself out there. And pass unnoticed. But if someone is in pain or odd. I absolutely put myself out there. I reach out. Make contact. And that. As it turns out. Is half the battle right there.

Mmmm bleh. Time to stop writing. I feel very ill. To the point it's interrupting me being able to write.

Sigh.