Jun 3

 As I turned over to sleep last night, I wished multiple times, just to let me die in my sleep. I begged. Please. Please. Just let me sleep and never wake again. I said it out loud. As if to bargain with some greater entity.

The day has dawned. Here I am.

Wish not granted.

I slept fitfully. Shallow I am pretty sure. Kept waking up to check the time. Anxiety then.

I have maintained discipline to stop any spiralling about Poppy. This is. At this point. Familiar territory. Don't linger. Don't go deep. But it's there. Like a wall of water.

I can say this for certain. It is not helping with the rest of it. 

These days I find myself often caught in a state of some kind of oblivion seeking. Whether it's suddenly realising I have my hands clasped to my face eyes closed... just... wishing away reality and you've been like that for 5 minutes or more - today. Or whether it's seeking the embrace of sleep and sliding out of existence.

All my points of relief are about non existence. Directly or indirectly I am wishing for death.

I have this urge to curl into a ball. Literally. I want to curl into the tightest ball I can. Curl up. Smother all the light. All the sounds. Somewhere warm. And disappear.

It is, obviously, primal. A return to a womb like state. As plain a bit of body language as you can ever get. Super defensive. My shrink would point at me feeling unsafe again. You don't feel safe. Uh huh. Whatever.

It is just another sign of distress and overload. You don't need to be a rocket scientist to see it.

So it goes.

Another day of wonder in this lovely world.

I think I have reached a point where I am now utterly unsalvageable. I am as the kids would say, cooked. The damage has left permanent scars. And I am pretty sure, even if I was miraculously to do better from today. To have a lot, a lot of care and attention and love and everything else poured on me. I don't think I would recover. Those scars are not going to heal. My mindset has become stuck I think. A perpetual scream of horror. This too, is not exactly rocket science. It has turned into trauma. A trauma that cannot be unwoven from who I am. And now I get to carry that ugly, that dysfunction with me. Always broken. Mildly toxic. Badly flawed. A mental case. Or rather. Another badge on my mental case properties list.

I have tried my best to make it through upright. But. I have lost I think. I think many of us do. Life can be hard. I suppose really, it is ridiculous to assume that you will get through it all, like some fantasy hero, some charmed life main character, the reality is that it will chew you up and spit you out. How arrogant to assume that you could win, or even draw, you are not the center of the universe. You are not even the edge of it. Just a microscopically small insignificant mote of dust. You are nothing.

This sense of perspective in the greater arc of things is not kind. I am sure we were never meant to have such realisations. It goes better for us if we imagine that we are indeed the central character to the story. The hero. The center of a revolving universe. Bring that context circle in tight. Or as the zen would have it, live in the moment, concentrate on your breathing and the things around you. IE. Shut out the magnitude of the universe and just focus on being right here, right now. The paradox. Do you choose wider context, greater understanding, objectivity and insanity. Or subjectivity, a smaller circle, a limited understanding and relative peace. But to do anything. To know anything. Is to court with objectivity. Increase your knowledge. Bring your eyes up from your feet to the horizon. The more you know. The bigger slice of insanity you get.

I think there maybe a weird tipping point there. Wonderfully ironic. The more capable you are, the more you skirt with insanity until, when you are all you can be, you are also insane. And suddenly are not capable at all. Perhaps this is no different to the analogy of a burn out. A light burns brightest just before it burns out entirely. More power. More light. More heat. Pop. Only darkness.

Life is cruel. I cannot escape this conclusion. Every death. Every loss. So very very cruel.

On the plus side.

I can confirm, not that it needed confirming, that I am absolutely not a sociopath.

Everything hurts too much, and I care too much, and others are precious to me for me to be a sociopath. I think I am the opposite. An empath. Highly neurotic these days. A high neurotic empath. That's a big yikes. Such a person is going to experience a lot of pain... hey... that does indeed resemble me. Oh.