May 21

 The last couple of days have been difficult.

My therapy outing has I think contributed heavily to a CFS slump. I have struggled to be lucid or upright. Work has been very difficult. I barely managed to get anything done yesterday, very hard, and today, I have managed, and completed a few things off my list, but hard. Running a marathon up a hill whilst giving someone a piggy back.

I actually paused at a mid point today, acknowledging just how hard it was to put one foot in front of another, cup of tea in hand, wading through a treacle malaise of brain fog, exhaustion, and pain. The most inconsequential thing. Like scaling Everest. A hidden battle. No one sees it.

That I have achieved what I did at work today is, I suppose, from one angle, nothing short of incredible. And for parts of it. I had to bring my brain firing on all cylinders. It was so hard to get it even half into position. Foggy. But. I did it. Don't ask me how. Pure fucking stubborness perhaps. A poking sense of duty. A spite filled dragging myself along to try it, see how far we get before we collapse. This isn't your happy clappy self help book motivation. This is one fuelled by torment. Unsurprisingly. You don't see any motivational books like that. But I think probably reflects more of a reality for many than all those positive ones.

In any case.

It is not a recipe for a light filled happy skip through the day. It is hard. And gritty. And miserable.

Jolly good.

As well as that. The last couple of days I have been hit by intense bouts of sadness. That crushing sadness that these days is just like the day ending in Y. It flattens me. It makes all my insides twist painfully. A sharp, sour, stabbing knife in the stomach. A heart ache literally. And a bubbling up set of emotions that are impossible to cap off, full on, avalanche, always ending in tears.

So, that's nice.

I am not going into some of the other more minor, but no less serious details. Suffice to say there are plenty of cracks on show.

I find now. Sometimes. Just wanting to talk to the therapist. Not making me feel better. Not giving me some bullshit excercise. But. Just telling them what I see. What I have been through. Wanting perhaps, some validation there ? I see you. I understand. That does sound shit. I am sorry you have had to go through that. I think. Someone to just nod and understand and be there.

It's not overwhelming. It is fleeting. I think it is more because I have started a small habit of talking about these things to someone. And then. It comes up in a day. And I want to talk about it. I can kinda see how therapy type stuff becomes part of your routine if its like this. I can see why so many Americans have it as part of their life. There is, even if nothing else, a bit of cathartic release in there with someone who has a higher class of understanding and shutting the fuck up and also not judging. I can also imagine that peters out at some point. But maybe that's just me.

I am planning on doing some work again tomorrow - my day off. Just to be honest about how much I am doing. Flaking out for a near day to me feels unfair. So. I payback what I owe.

My anger at things has ebbed. It has perhaps turned into sadness instead. I find I am no longer angry with Hazel. Or anyone. Just sad. It seems to be my experience. I cannot hold onto anger or grudges with people. If there is any, then it slips away. No ill will. This is probably a "good" trait. It probably means I am not suited to being a hateful person. I don't think it is laudable per se. It is not something I have to work at, excercising a choice, effort. It is just. How it is. It ebbs away in me. And therefore not something that can be praised as being level headed per se. It just is. Even for the worst transgressions. My anger seems to just ebb away. And instead I find myself caring. Not angry. Just caring. Regardless of what they have done. Perhaps that isn't a good trait at all. Perhaps that's a recipe for being abused. Of not holding people accountable for their shitty behaviour. Very possible. Although. I think on the whole if there were a choice about it ( and I don't have one ), I'd prefer to be that way, forgiving, rather than able to hold onto anger, a grudge, turn it into bitterness and bile. Hazel does this. Everything is bitterness. It must be an exhausting way to live in many ways.  Oddly enough, I don't see myself as forgiving. It doesn't feel like I am forgiving things. I think. That's a conscious thing. And this. Whatever it is. Is not a conscious thing. I don't formally forgive people. I just. Stop being angry. Truly. No snide remarks. No otherwise. I have seen in some friends, some that in theory should be way better people than that, this very thing. Snide remarks. Passive aggressive cuts. It is. Ugly. It demonstrates ugly bits of their character. It is sad that people can be like that, that the human condition is like that. We can be cruel. And bitter. Uncharitable. Even the "best" of us. It is. If nothing else. A stark reminder again that we can all be monsters. Not a them and us. Just a we. And that eternal self vigilance is required to not become a cruel asshole.

Eh meh. Whatever. Stop. It is what it is. Let it go. Do not overthink it. Just drift.

I will say one thing that therapy has done for me in the insignificant time I have been going, and not actually doing any therapy work.

It has made me assemble my thoughts and feelings in a more organised way. Pulled them together to be able to tell someone else concisely what is going on. And in doing so. I think I have a very clear handle on where I am and why. Not that I didn't before. But. It has become more clear. Crystal clear. And also. Sadly. The inevitableness of it all. The rock solid logic behind it. You are sad. Because A. And B. And C. You cannot employ this coping mechanism. Or that. Because of reality 1, and reality 2. A neat. Circle. The physical prevents me from doing this. It impacts the mental like that. It cascades into grief like so. There are no fixes to any of that. It is a dark place. It is reality. I am not crackers. At least. I am not crackers in being like that. It is rational. Reasonable. The inevitable outcome. Stick your hand in the coals, you get burned. A. Follows B.

Whether there is some magical trick to dancing around these things. Some. Get out of jail of a shit place. I don't know. I don't think so. But who knows. I don't know it all. And maybe some shrink somewhere knows a trick or two.

A very good recent video I watched about a doc talking about depression, his depression, depression in general, talked about identifying the things you lack. The things that in a perfect world, if you had, would make you feel better. Give you a reason to live. It was an excellent thought experiment and bit of therapy. A path out. Which is basically what he said. I looked at myself under that lens. And it became oh so clear. That I was blocked. By physical incapability. Not something I could just wish away. Or work at. Or work on. You cannot snap your fingers and be cured of your ailments. And so. Major hurdle. Step one. In fact. It is the reality that sets other realities behind it. Because you are incapable, you cannot get to X. You have rolled down the ravine. But your legs no longer work. You cannot walk out again. So then what ? Learn how to crawl ? Some narrowing desperation of how to get around that major chunk missing from your capabilities ? It stretches reason. It becomes. Ridiculous. Implausible. There is a weight to reality.

The terminal patient cannot will themselves to take one more breath. There is, a reality there, which cannot be escaped.

And that.

Is a whole other path through misery and depression. One in which you have to accept the horror - or not. There is no happy path out.

What do you do in that circumstance ? Where you are trapped ?

I have no answer to that.

Only existentialist placation. Enjoy what you do have. Where you are. Accept what is. All that shit. Very nice. Ignoring the elephant in the room. Some realities are not enjoyable at all. Objectively. The person having their skin peeled from their body through torture cannot just "reframe it to a happy experience". It is. And always will be. Shit.

This is the problem I have with existentialism. Or overly optimistic therapy approaches.

It feels like a desperate denial of reality for want of a happy ending.

Ridiculous.

I think the true answer. Is to have never got to that place in the first place. Do not be that aware. Do not be that smart. Do not figure shit out. Basically. Do not lose your innocence. Which. Whilst is an answer. Isn't a helpful one. It helps with understanding, once you have walked through the door, that you should not have walked through that door. But it does not help once you have done so, and cannot ever go back through it. 

This is why you're fucked. Oh yeah.

You can't do anything about it. But you do get why.

Great. I'll mark that down as another gold star achievement. Well done. Assignment complete. You have walked into hell. You know why you walked into hell. You can see the path that got you here. There will be no more questions. And no help. Congratulations at arriving at hell and understanding. Now. Deal with it. No. There will be no painkillers. Here is Balthazar to administer the first of your eternal sufferings you clever clever oh so clever person.

Always believe in Santa Claus. Do not pop that bubble. You won't like it.

Anyway.

I shall work some tomorrow.

And then sleep.

And sleep.

And sleep.

The lesser oblivion. The lesser suicide. Sleep everything away.