May 18

Nothing to say. One day stretches to the next, not feeling great, I've had worse, I've had better.

My thoughts circle around the end of all things. I don't do it largely because of cowardice and it not being bad enough right at this minute to override that cowardice.

Some moments are worse than others. That boundary stretches very thin. And not even where you might think it's obvious. Sometimes in the quiet moments, where I can hear myself think, and my issues shift to a background buzz, a calm, cool, rational voice just floats the idea. What if you did it now ? Rather than wait til it's terrible again ? Wouldn't that be better ?

Wouldn't it be better when you're not suffering unbearably, where it's a nice day, and you can just sit. And sigh. And end it. Wouldn't that be better than the pit of some awful hole out of desperation ?

Yes.

Is the answer.

And it hangs there. Tempting.

But I don't. For the moment.

Each of these steps is no good in and of itself. Each one normalises the whole thing. Shifting it to mundane. No big deal. Nothing to fear. Just do it.

Ho hum.

I do not want to be here. There is nothing here for me.

Today I have slept long. Done little. Nursed a malaise. I shifted some old code over to a new framework. A few hours of work. My old game code. Now some 15 years old. Still works. As I port it over to yet another new version of a framework I kick the tyres and test it works. It does. Little sparkles of magic. Of branches I never fully explored. Different paths. There is something there. A bit of wonder and awe. Even many years after. They do not lose their charm.

In a different universe I would have got somewhere with all these things. And walked a different path. Not that I would perhaps have ended up any happier. Or less ill. Just different. I think at a high level, I would have enjoyed myself more had I done that for myself, rather than making Andy stinking rich. But it's easy to say. The grass is always greener. Albeit. I did always like noodling with games. Now. I have no energy for it. No wellbeing. I live in fever dreams.

Tomorrow is therapy day. My mood about it has deteriorated a little. I am gloomy about it. Despondent. Defeated. I know they do not want to be there.

I spoke briefly with a friend over the weekend. He advised I should just be honest with them. Be honest in my despondency towards them. I think, I said, that right at the root of it all, the littlest thing, was I feared being abandoned. I did not want to lose them, knew what was in their mind, and sought to waylay them. Successfully as it turns out. But it's a sham. I have struggled with it. My friend said it was natural. My worst fears had been confirmed. Unreachable. Too complex. It is natural I would be bummed out about it. On the whole he saw the humour in it. Wanted to know what my therapist would report to their own supervisor. What that was like having someone walk into their office who could to quote him "see round corners" and "know everything they're going to say before they say it". He cackled. And again stated how much he would want to be a fly on that wall, therapist to therapist. I dejectedly said they would say I am a pain in the ass. No, he said. Fascinating. Interesting. A one in a million encounter. Like meeting Sherlock Holmes who could tell you what you had for breakfast because of a bit of egg on your shirt. I am just a dude I said. On a planet of many other dudes. Nothing special. He disagreed. You are at the very least unusual he said. You know it all, and yet you struggle.

Whatever.

It doesn't matter.

My mood shuffles around the lower end of the scale. I have had far worse. But it is grim. I know, because of course my smart stupid fucking arse does, that I am very depressed at the moment. Every single clinical sign lit up brightly. I am flatlined. But I exist. Been here. Done that. Live without hope. Or joy. I have plenty of experience doing that. And if I pause for a second. I catch a glimpse of beautiful Athena. My sadness knows no bounds, and I have to shut down.

We shall see what the therapist has to say for themselves tomorrow.

For me. It is a foregone conclusion. I need to pick myself up, dust myself off, and perhaps try again somewhere else. I will make sure to ask them tomorrow if they have any suggestions, if not immediately, then can they go think about it and suggest someone I could talk to ?

But part of me, of course, just wants to curl into a ball and give up. Walk out of there. Stare into the blue sky. And walk off a bridge. And finish it.

It is, when you cut it down to its most brutally concise form, and very arguably oversimplified to inaccuracy, a rejection.

It's not like that. It shouldn't be like that. It is part of the process. Normal. About finding a fit.

And yet. It feeds my isolation. You are a freak. I know. You have pushed too hard. I know. And now you are unreachable. Unlikeable. Alien. And doomed.

Sigh.

I find I am increasingly hard pressed to keep a connection to humanity. People. Others. It is. Drifting away. Part of that is probably me spending too much time on my own. Part of it is the Unstoppable Inevitable Force thing that's going on with me.

People are becoming like a background noise to me. Where I can't really make out what they're saying. Living their lives. Buzzing along. It increasingly feels alien to me. Like watching an ant hive. Why. Why are you bothering. Pointless. The moment is lost on me. I am tracking a longer arc of time. Generational. People born. People die. Generations rise and fall. Noise. Nothing changes. Just noise. Tools get smarter. People stay the same. A continued bumbling around bumping into the same things over and over. Hate. Fear. Love. Greed. Jealousy. Desperation. Confusion. Rinse and repeat. I saw briefly in the news some latest bit of insane emperor drivel from the US - floating the idea of televising games for illegal immigrants where the winner gets to stay and everyone else gets deported. The newest idea from the flatulent balloon or one of his imbecilic sycophants. The hunger games people then started calling it. It's older than that. Ave Imperator, morituri te salutant. 2000 years ago. Fighting to the death for the entertainment of the ravenous public. Same shit. Same drives. Same ideas. Millennia after millennia. Are you not entertained ?

There is nothing here for me. I am tired of my existence. And I am tired of people and the world. Bumblefucks. Cruel. Ignorant. Arrogant.