Mar 9

 It has been a relatively active few days. I am feeling a bit better. It comes up and down such is the way of things, sometimes the weight of exhaustion sits on me more heavily, and at other times it is lighter. But all round it is better than what it was. I am not flat on my back for 18 hours for starters. So. Better.

On Thursday I took myself off to go see my niece and drop off a laptop and ipad to her. I had planned to do this given I was faring a little better, and possibly capable of doing some stuff. Going down to see her was a risk health and energy wise, no doubt about it. But. I thought I would give it a shot.

On the Thursday morning I woke up to a familiar wall of exhaustion.

Oh no.

I was in no state to even get out of bed, let alone organise myself and go do 3 hours of driving in a day.

I gave myself time.

Everytime I looked at the clock another hour had gone and I still felt shit. This is absolutely the way it is. It can take me hours upon hours to move the needle from utterly shit to a tiny bit better.

Time to leave and I still felt awful. I resolved to do it. Because it was important. Not only to drop a few things off to my niece which they would really find useful. But also haven spoken to my nephew the day before briefly, it was evident he was not doing great, and really wanted me to also come see him as I would be sort of down that way. This would be taking the piss with my health no doubt about it. But I got the distinct impression, in that doesn't matter, no big deal, blokey kind of way that it was important I get to see and talk to my nephew.

So.

Sitting in my car before the off. I felt shit. I would not, in my right mind, even attempt this feeling the way I did. But. It was important. I talked myself through it. What is the worst that happens here ? I conk out health wise somewhere in the journey, can't drive, can't do shit. I can get the car towed back home. Get a lift back home. Not the end of the world. Sure it would cost a chunk of money. But that's ok. So. Let's do this. Peddle until I fall over. If I do fall over. There is a plan. Let's throw the dice on how much of a pisstake I can manage.

The whole journey down I felt like shit. At one point I remembered that once upon a time I wouldn't even think twice about driving around like that. Days when I didn't feel continually ill. What a different world that was. It seemed so easy. So complacent that that's what it always would be. And now. I had lost it. It was a struggle. A torture. It made me sad. Alienated. Living a different experience to those around me.

I got there, I felt a little better. But tired. Spent a couple of hours with her which was lovely. She is really into her mental health stuff and we had a good chat about that, whilst her youngest toddled about, and gave me everything in the room, from blankets, to stuffed toys, to sippy cup to large plastic car. You must have good vibes my niece said. He's usually very shy.

I left there and headed further south. Adamant I would see my nephew. Which I did. He wasn't good. At all. Bleary. Not entirely with it. In pain. Not entirely sure what was going on with him. He looked like he had been asleep, but he said he hadn't been. I don't know. He was groggy.

We talked a bit, I let him talk to me, kept it light for the most part, engaging him about stuff he liked, positive things. When I arrived at my sisters house he was in his room. My sister eating dinner. It was apparent he hadn't been out or around. An odd situation. He is isolated in his own room. I can understand my sister is having trouble reaching him. I am not entirely sure she knows what to do. Despite being something of a therapist herself at this point.

I Was exhausted. Made a point to see my brother. I intended to drive back home. Surely beyond doubt taking the piss. More than 4 hours driving. I was encouraged to stay.

So I did in the end. I was too tired. And flaked out somewhere around 8.30pm. And then slept for 13 hours. Business as usual then.

I left the following day against some minor objections that I should stay. No. I really should stay. You don't have to go. Stay.

But I went home.

By the time I got home I felt ill and tired. So I went straight to bed to lie down. This is my life. A full day on my feet is too much. I can't do it. I conk out.

The last couple of days have been up and down energy wise. But. I am still doing a bit better. Today I have a little bit more energy than usual. Enough to be up. Potter about a little. Oh so very very slowly, and with ups and downs, I am improving.

Perhaps the PPIs easing my stomach and nausea are doing more good for me than I thought. Or perhaps it's just that random cycling of bullshit that goes on.

Yesterday however I had a total meltdown.

I had wandered into learning about pento barbituates. Controversially recommended as the best way to euthanise yourself. Also used by vets to euthanise animals. I absorbed information. They worked by arresting breathing. One tick. Two ticks. The bottom of my world dropped out and I was suddenly very upset with the idea that I had suffocated my two babies. Were they panicking at the end. Were they struggling to breathe.

I was a bigger monster than I even thought. If their last moments were terrifying.

An enormous well of sadness and guilt and horror bubbled up and I absolutely cried my eyes out. Forlorn. Not wanting to live. I am a terrible person. I relived those seconds of both Ares and Athenas last moments, harrowing, each of their reactions in the tiniest hyper vigilant details. In perfect recollection. Brutal. Awful. Piled on.

I cried very hard.

I messaged my vet friend. Can you talk to me. I had to know. I had to ask.

She said they didn't panic. They were out of it.

But still.

I don't entirely trust it.

I know how shit works. I know how flawed people are. I know how science works. I know that in every human endeavour, assumptions are always made, corners are cut, fuckups are a plenty. Everything always follows the same pattern of doing something then much later realising how fucked up that was. Burning fossil fuels. Slavery. Lobotomies. Meds. Diets. Pollutants. Every. Single. Fucking. One. The same story. Oh well yes in hindsight that was obviously a mistake or terrible, but at the time we thought it was ok. Typical. Human bullshit.

And here I smell a problem. Are you sure the method of euthanasia is peaceful. Is this the same fucking pattern.

And I am pretty sure the answer is that they don't know for sure. They judge it by the usual flawed fucking assumptions. Well. They don't panic. They don't twitch ( usually ). That's no fucking test. And that isn't fucking 100% either, there are documented cases where that does happen. You could be paralysed, trapped screaming but unable to move. The only way you'd know for sure is monitor the brain in real time. What waves it is outputting. What state. And I am pretty fucking sure they have never done that. They're just making assumptions. Because that's what they've always done.

Which is not to say it's wrong. It could indeed be peaceful. It probably is. They are probably right. For most cases. But they equivocally don't know. Not as far as I could see.

My vet friend reassured me it was the perfect way to go. Peaceful. The right choice. etc.

I took her reassurances.

My grief and horror relented.

Somewhat.

But in my heart it is another doubt. A major doubt. Another guilt. In 200 years time will it turn out to be a horror we inflicted. I inflicted.

It does not matter that "I did my best" or "that's the best info we have" or "this is what experts recommend". It is not good enough. I can do better. I do do better. That is my role. That is who I am. I am always the one that has to fucking have the answer. The backstop. Where the buck ends up. I have to fix it and know all and do the impossible and then teach others. I know how flawed and impressively fucking stupid people are. And that I have to do better. Must do better. It is not good enough for me to merely do my best. That is no fucking salve to letting someone or something die. To failure. Well you did your best. No. Fuck off. I needed to solve that. Save my dogs from a possible terrible ending. Or at the least know for sure. FOR SURE. This is correct. The i's are dotted. The t's crossed. And I didn't. And it would be almost impossible for me to do. But still. Not good enough.

I am aware I hold myself to an impossibly high standard. A pathologically dysfunctional hard line. Stupid. It doesn't matter. There is failure and success. Trying your best - for me - is not good enough. In anyone else. It is ok. You did your best. It is all you can do. I do not apply that to myself. Do better. You fuckhead. When you fail, others rely on you. Put their trust in you. You. Cannot. Fail.

I will burn myself to the ground in order to keep a promise. Do a thing. If someones trust is in me. Everything must be engaged.

Sigh.

I know.

I can hear it.

It is mental. Zero boundary. Maximum self criticism. Impossible standards.

But I also know what I am capable of. I know what level of competence I can hit. And if I am not doing my utmost tippety top best then I am a failure. Forever. A mark that does not go away. Cannot be corrected. A mark against your soul. A tally. Of sins. This is why you suck and deserve to be punished.

I know.

Again.

Stupidly impossibly hard. My inner professional critic pushed to lethal levels.

But I know what I am capable of. Anything less is me being shit.

At the bottom of it all.

There is grief and sadness and guilt. I miss my babies so much.

The grief has bubbled sharply up to the surface this week. I have relived their losses in acute detail all over again.

I hate this existence.

I am doing my best for those around me.

I hate living.

But I carry on. Noodle with a game. Let your mind go somewhere else. Lay off beating yourself bloody. Let that monstrous piece of clockwork chew on a different problem. Let that problem solving engine work through something else that isn't your soul. My rational meticulous logic that slowly grinds my soul into dust by examining every single potential mistake and understanding it wasn't good enough. Over and over again. In mathematical detail.

Let it instead think about a problem in a game. To stop it chewing my leg off.

And it does.

It stops. For a while. Distracted.

And I am left behind, the emotional bit of me. The human bit of me. Ill. Tired. Brutalised. Bloody tatters.

Take another shaky breath.

Keep on going.