Feb 28

 The days blur past. Everything feels too quick. I sleep. And two days pass. I sleep again. And suddenly it's a week later.

My zen spot is sleep. Everything melts away. No suffering. No misery. No demands. Sometimes I am haunted by dreams - of late anxiety riddled about failing work - but more often than not I either don't remember my dreams or I thankfully don't have them ( they are never good ). I realise that I am always wanting oblivion. It is when you stand back from it a soft opt to not exist. A soft suicide - something I can come back from. But. I am perpetually "better off" in oblivion. Not existing. Really, the only thing between a soft opt for oblivion and a hard one, is the fear of it being final, the worry of how it impacts everyone else, the hassle it would cause some people. But in reality it is pretty thin. The world would continue to turn. A single drop in an ocean. People would cope and move on.

Sometimes I wake up at some point in the middle of a sleep cycle. And things are at their worst. I feel shit. My mood is in the tank. But there is also a calmness. And in those moments I come very very close to taking the hard oblivion. I had one last week. In the middle of the night. I felt terrible. And my mood was terrible. Overwhelmed with loss. And also the realisation I would never escape my chronic problems. That everything was just a coping mechanism to get to another day for no reason at all. The knife - the very common vehicle of a hard out - expanded to fill my mind. I could. Just get out of bed. Go downstairs. Get the knife. Go to the bathroom. Lie in the bath. Empty. Clothed. And just slice. Lay back. And sleep. So easy. So possible. It would take away all the pain. The resources I have would be split up amongst those that need it. I would no longer be in pain. I would no longer be a worry to others. No one would have to spend a single iota of thought or effort on me. So easy. So simple. So right. And perhaps most worrying of all. I was calm about it. Practical. Rational. Yeah. That sounds really easy. A 1,2,3 step to oblivion. As simple as taking a paracetamol.

I was one heartbeat away from doing it. Because it lowers the bar down to almost zero. It just starts with getting out of bed. Easy. And ends up in the bathroom. Bleeding out. Each step is so easy. Compared to everything else in my life. So easy.

I am aware that some of this is the ... whatever... mid sleep demons. The parts of my brain that put up an (irrational) fight against this, that cope, that struggle, are still half asleep. And the deeper bits of me have less pushback against it. And so it ups a notch in compulsion.

After finishing sleep those siren calls to take the hard option dull down. The ruthless controller that oversees everything in my head is fully awake. And keeping those forces at a further arms length.

It is not beyond imagination that one of those nights that hairs breadth is crossed.

Perhaps in reality it would just trigger the next stage of that shit. Where you get right up to the point. The feel of a knife on your skin. Push it harder. Harder. Harder. Until you lose the choice. But somewhere in that space an enormous emotional brawl occurs. Balanced, literally, on that knife edge. To do. Or do not.

Eh well.

Still here. Still kicking.

Not currently suicidal. Ish. It hangs out with me. On a daily basis. Perched. Next to me. But quiet. Always there. Unless something dramatically ground shaking happens to my life, this is always going to be the case.

I don't have anything to live for. And I feel trapped. Trapped by my situation. Trapped by my own neurodivergent ways. Trapped by the realities of the world. Trapped by bureaucracy and processes. Trapped all round. Unable to do anything. I very much doubt I can get out on my own anymore. Trapped, as it turns out, like everyone else I see. My physical condition curtails so many of my options. Just physically unable to do shit. Everything else piles on top of that. The difficulties I have navigating my own neuro bullshit.

Ho hum.

Cheery today. Clearly.

What's the answer ?

Someone to come and rescue me would be lovely. But unrealistic. 

Doing better physically. Getting on top of the bullshit. And then freeing myself from the rest of my traps. The house itself. Different patterns of living. That would probably be a path out. But. A large part of that relies on me just "getting better suddenly". Which is not how shit works.

Anyway.

Yesterday and today I have worked on regaining my patience with people. Reached out a little. Overcome my disappointment with people. And am trying to encourage positive vibes in myself, have patience with the shitfuckery. Patience. Slowly it's warming up again. I know that a lot of what I do and go through people say I am taken advantage of. Or I don't have good boundaries ( true ). And I should protect myself more. And some people can be absolutely horrid to me. But. There is a goal in there too. About being patient. About understanding. Even in the most horrible of conditions. Even when you would be well justified to say fuck you, fuck off, you are a terrible person. Have patience. Perservere. Project kindness.

Yes. That is exhausting. Yes it sometimes comes at a great cost. But. I think it's kind of important. In a world drowned in meanness. And mercenary selfishness. A world that indeed praises greed and selfish behaviour, the accumulation of Stuff.

It is debatable to be so openly kind and giving. I get that. Depending how you look at it, you could be called naive. Or easily taken advantage of. Or. Just caring and kind without transaction. Without turning it into a reciprocal deal. Which. Sometimes is no bad thing. Treat me well. I treat you well. Is not an unfair stand. But somethings are beyond reciprocal. The cat that only understands violence. It has to be treated with patience first. The violence absorbed. If you simply meet like for like - which is not unjust - on day one. All you will net is violence.

Sometimes you have to sacrifice. Be the better person. Be the instigator of kindness.

You can argue about limits.

That only goes so far. After a while shit runs out, you give up, and cut them loose.

Sure. Also sensible.

But there is also a thing of, imagine if that were you. Unable to help yourself. Lashing out at others. What would that feel like to be cut loose. Not unjustly.

It would not be good.

I think.

In the end. There is always space for infinite compassion. Even though it is open to abuse. Will get abused. Can be viewed as stupid. Self destructive. But it is, still, compassion. A boundaryless compassion.

It is, almost certainly, in the big picture an anti evolutionary tendency. IE. This isn't a good strategy for personal survival. There is room in survival for both outright selfish greed and cooperative transactional support in a group. Complete selflessness probably not so much. But. I think. It transcends that base level of existence to something else. Altruism to a fault. A little acknowledgement that we don't have to be bound by baser instincts. The need for outright survival. We can be better than that. Or something.

Maybe I'll bring it up with my therapist friend next time I see him. See what his opinion of that is. Boundary wise. Probably critical. If I were to guess. Ho ho.