Dec 4

 I have made a painful concerted effort to pull my sleeping hours the right way around, by overburning and trying to push my waking hours back. It's. Kind of working. I am now awake - ish - during daylight hours. And sleeping - ish - during dark hours. But it's kind of tricky. 

Nausea is varying. On the whole better than it has been. It seems perhaps to very very slowly be heading in the right direction.

I've completed a lot of work this week. A lot. Worked more this week than many weeks put together in fact. I've made good progress, and it's good to actually be productive again. But. Eh. Difficult.

Today I briefly helped my brother with trying to setup some streaming software. And whilst doing that. I was looking over some of my capture samples, and then some of my captures of games I had been working on. Cool stuff. And inevitably we get to green leafy walks, and Athena, and beautiful scenery...

... and the misery descends, and the grief hits, and it is brought home to me yet again just how much I have lost.

I miss Athena so much. I miss them both. I miss the green walks. And the beautiful scenery. I am horribly horribly hollow compared to what I was even a year ago. I have adapted somewhat, and just got on with it. But. It is terrible. When it is put into perspective. Cruel. And horrible.

Sigh.

I have nothing new to say.

Ill. And sad. And even when I am not on the floor sad. I have an awful terrible haunted quality to me now. Everything has a lens of loss to it now. There is nothing I don't do where there isn't a towering wall of sadness sitting on my shoulder. For the most part I just get on with it. And it sits there. Behind me. Hard to describe. I have slowly adapted to not be on the floor incapable with grief. But at the same time. It is now all pervasive. Every thought. Decision. Activity. Watching others. Anything. Has that grief tagging along. Hopelessness. Despair.

Sigh.

Perhaps another way to put it. Is wherever I go. There is a 7 foot tall 400lb quiet shadow standing beside me. You can't see them. But they are there. A huge presence to me. Silent. For the most part. But there all the same. Their presence is more real than anything else in the room. It is off the scale more emotionally powerful than anything in front of me. The scale of that lump, dwarfs everything, squeezes all the oxygen out of the room. But to you. You can't see anything but me. It exerts a heaviness. Increases the weight that I have to carry beyond the misery of just my existence in and of itself. It is, really, beyond reasonable coping. I have to sacrifice everything just to keep breathing. It is, objectively, almost certainly not worth it.

And I do not foresee any of that changing.

I am not fit for decent human interaction. I can do it. But as a person I am burned out. Hollowed. Nothing to offer but repeating mentally dysfunctional sorrow.

Another way to put that would be damned.

Each footstep I take is another pace through purgatory. I stopped living many months ago. I am not yet entirely dead. I live in the twilight between those places, purgatory, waiting until it finally ends.

At my very best I can pretend a little, shut it out a little, and potter.

At its worst it renders me down to zero, where if I had just a little more courage, or a little spark were to fire, I would finally end it all myself.

Cheery.

And not a good example of a human.