Apr 19
I tried so hard yesterday to not have a shit day. Let's go. Be positive. Eat defensively. Hydrate.
Failed.
Hard.
I tried ignoring it.
Didn't work.
I ended up in bed 4 or 5 times during the day. Forced there. Feeling sick. Feeling exhausted. Blips. So very shit. And I tried so hard to not do that.
Which is also a problem. When you fight hard. And you still fail. It communicates to you just how fucking high that mountain is. That it isn't doable. And that you are, indeed, lost.
Which inevitably, of course, leads to despair.
And sadness.
And depression.
Shrug it off. Pick yourself up. Try again. Except. You can sometimes follow that path for other things. But not this. Not a persistent physical health problem. You can try it. But then your vision blurs, a blip occurs, nausea roils. And all that high level bullshit evaporates. You're going to be lucky to keep fucking breathing my dude. Let alone giving yourself some ra ra fucking self help bullshit. It's more fundamental than a rousing bit of positivity, or a healthy mindset. It's down to the wire of, how do I not collapse in the next 5 seconds.
So there is no escape. There is no self gaslighting bullshit you can pull off to reset your head to a more positive space.
Today I woke up groggy and sluggish and super exhausted. Hilariously like going through yesterdays fucking symptoms like a check list I have managed to hit so many of them in a 24 hour period after writing it.
I could feel it in my sleep. I sometimes can. Your dreams become infused with a sluggish hard to think quality. Like treacle. You have trouble speaking in a dream. You can feel "concrete" in your brain. Everything is slow. Difficult. And you slowly wake up into that state. Oh. Uh huh. I turned over in the morning, my muscles screeching in pain. Went back to sleep. Maybe more sleep would help.
Ha ha.
No.
The hours peeled off.
Better yet ?
No. Exhausted. Treacle brain.
Eventually I just screeched my way into waking up. That, digging yourself out of a sealed grave with your fingertips experience. It is. Very apt. It is awful.
Truly, the delightful things I have experience in the last 5 years or so with this bullshit have been unprecedented and a series of undiscovered things. In an absolutely fucking awful way. A buffet of one terrible experience to the next. That you've never had even once in your life before. And everything you took 40 odd years as getting to know as normal in how your body works and feels is torn up, spat on, thrown over your shoulder, and everything going forwards is going to be a whole bunch different and unpredictable.
Awesome.
Last night I also had a very bad sleep paralysis dream. I have had them in the past but they are typically... not severe. Or dont last very long. Or I manage to actually un paralyse myself. I wont go into the boring details of a dream recap. But it wasn't great. Given how I was in the morning, I wonder if this just wasn't the start of the exhaustion cycle. Maybe I was starving for oxygen. Who knows.
Today I have pencilled in a lunch meetup with my therapist friend. I am doing my very best to try and warm up for it. Like some fucking invalid footballer standing on the sidelines trying to get the blood flowing and the muscles moving. I am taking my time warming up. Being careful with energy. Hydration. Everything.
I give it less than a 50 50 shot of managing to get out today.
But I am trying as hard as I can.
I have a lot of things to talk to him about. I am not sure if I will talk to him about any of it. I need to listen to him. And let him talk through any stuff he has. I want to know how he's doing. With all of it. Mentally. Physically. Where he's at with his soul searching with career. Family.
Going somewhere I haven't been before. Driven past it a bazillion times. It's not somewhere I would typically choose to go. Not my bag. Not. Pretty enough. Not. Nice enough. Not in some serene spot. ( although to be fair to it, it looks gorgeous inside, it's just the outside that looks like an utter urban concrete wasteland ). Don't get me wrong. I love some of the grungiest ( now almost entirely gone ) pie and mash shops in the Eastend of London. And I have a soft spot for greasy spoons. But. I tend to not be down with the urban trendy bullshit. Hipsters. Are not my bag. At all. I find it all - unfairly or not - inauthentic. Trying too hard to be what it isn't. Trying to capture a time they didn't experience ( but hilariously is often one I grew up in ). It is, I think, as the Pulp lyrics say something about "everybody hates a tourist". But again. This place isn't really that. I just kind of. Associate it with that. Ha.
Anyway I digress.
I am sure the place is fab. It's just not somewhere that triggers my radar.
My friend has an entirely different set of sensibilities to me. He likes the indie grunge. And to be fair to him, he makes me experience things I don't typically get to experience, and find out that, hey some of these are pretty fucking good.
Always the way.
Comfortable in your own assumptions about how not great something is, until you try it, and find huh, this is pretty good actually.
As much as I work hard to be better, I am still, a flawed fucked up human at the end of the day, subject to the same bullshit. But. I do my best against it. And. Learn. And correct. And grow.
Well. These days. I just curl into a ball and slowly die.
But eh. Given the chance.
Anyway. Today we are going here
Assuming I can manage it. I shall do my best to navigate my shitty digestive system to something neutral. Shouldn't be super hard given it's a vegetarian place, so long as I stay away from anything stupid spicy.
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