Jul 19

 I deleted one of the days posts from the blog. It sat uneasily with me. A bit of self loathing if I am honest. There are parts of me that I am not entirely comfortable with, as hilarious as that is. Whilst I do think I have a good grip on who I am, and where I am. The wrestle with the inner critic is real. And sometimes. That inner critic wins out. Who do you think you are. Asshole.

Hmm.

Anywho.

Yesterday I paid a visit to Hazel, and just on a whim, we went out for a burger, despite it being a disgusting temperature.

During the course of chit chat I did gently let drop that I had been keeping half an eye on her. Tracking which days she would be on her own. From a Poppy point of view. So far. She has been busy the whole time. And had company from friends, family, boyfriend. And in those slack gaps where she has been on her own I have sometimes just one sentenced poked her each day. Or. Decided we should go do something.

So yesterday was one of those days. Her boyfriend left end of last week. And this, to my estimation, would have been the longest time since she lost Poppy that she would have been on her own. Not to mention the come down from having her boyfriend go back home, and not having had to deal with that without Poppy or me being there... ever. 

A tiny red flag.

She admitted that this week she had started to miss Poppy a lot. She imagined she could hear her in her flat. Things like eating a random food would trigger a wave of sadness as there was no dog there that would come ask for a share. And on. And on. I listened. And nodded. Each point I felt acutely. I have done the same things. It is brutal.

But she seems to be getting on ok with it.

We ended up spending around 5 hours out. A lot. Really, it should have just been dinner and back. But we ended up sitting in the car at her place talking for another 2 hours. About this that and everything. Politics. The US. The fact she had an emergency overdose of meds 2 days ago. Ambulances called. But then called off. And again. The general shitty response from the NHS. Her 111 responder couldn't be bothered she said. Made it hard. Sigh. She noted that it was 4am and so perhaps they were tired. But. I said it's an important job, providing a critical service. If you can't be bothered. Can't do it. Then get the fuck out of the way for someone who can. We don't have the same leeway for a brain surgeon, or an astronaut. Oh. It's ok they fucked up. They weren't feeling it today. Unacceptable. It's human to have good days and bad days. But if you're some critical lynch pin, then excuse yourself if you get to a point where you can't handle it. And also perhaps question the line of work you're in if it happens repeatedly. Time perhaps to go open a bakery and make cookies instead, where no ones life maybe on the line if you have a shitty day making cookies. Bottom line I think is that you have a responsibility to be... responsible for yourself. And know when you are doing no one any favours by grinding through your critical task. It is a bit of high art adult. The maturity to know when you are harming not helping. But. In my opinion. It is a critical element of something like providing potentially life or death health care.

Do better.

In the scale of things however, the NHS are guilty of far more heinous sins than a shitty 111 response.

This week someone on reddit was asking if they could take a GP receptionist to court. Long story short. Their cancer diagnosis was held up for six weeks because they were continually fobbed off, flatly denied by a receptionist who said that "an itchy bloody mole didn't sound like something to bother a GP with" and put the phone down. And otherwise went through the usual clown car bullshit of more than 50 calls to finally see a GP, finally get a diagnosis, and yeah, cancer.

Malpractice was the consensus from the legal brains. But you can't target the receptionist directly. Only the practice.

The sad bit was the other comments. Rather than the tone being how unusual. How unfortunate. The responses were all. Me too. Sounds familiar. I had that as well.

Big. Fucking. Yikes. 

Anyway. 

The sadness about my mutts has not gone away.

I am not entirely sure what's going on.

But today, yet again, it kicked like a mule. Overwhelming feelings of guilt. Did I make a mistake. Could I have somehow cured them. Why did I not save them. Intellectually it doesn't matter. And the feelings are so much that it starts to undermine any intellectual point and turn all those into anxiety. Oh. What if that's true. What if I could have healed them.

The rational starts to crumble in the face of relentless emotion, and anxiety is induced.

I guess, this is at a meta level, a common pattern for how your rational side can be eroded. And join the crazy party.

I am coping with it.

But the waves of sad and guilt are bad. In many ways it feels very fresh again. Even with Ares. Now some 4 years gone.

I find it feeds my general feelings that life is shit a lot. In those very quiet moments. Where I cry myself to sleep. I wish for death. And that suicidal ideation rides forth. Whispering how easy it would be. And. Finally. Perhaps now is the time. Just. Get up. Go to the bathroom. Get in the bath. And slash your wrist. It seems. So easy. So. Correct. So calm. It is absolutely a siren song.

I know somewhat how this goes. How that can work. And that when things reach a critical point, how that siren song becomes your entire horizon. Nothing else matters or works or is sane. Just that end point. It becomes, really, a compulsion. A proper clinical compulsion. It's a slippery slope. I do guard against that slope to the best of my abilities. I avoid the building of logic and reliance on it. But still.

Enough of stupid me.

Two of my close friends are dealing with cancer. The second of which has only just got such a diagnosis. It is. I think. In these cases. A horrible by product of time. Getting older. And shit going sideways. The challenge is to not be swept away in despair. To have hope. To try and not let it crowd out all other aspects of life into nothing but anxiety. Oh so easier said than done. Some of this depends on the person themselves. Optimistic. Or pessimistic. A fighter. Or worn down already by one too many fights. Difficult. It is, in my humble opinion, one of the many casual cruelties of life. I find myself sometimes finding it hard to believe. Not because I don't believe them. But. More of a. Doesn't quite properly sink in. Or rather. It does. But I think there are shades of avoidance in there. I don't want that to be true. I suppose. Really. Like any very shit experience. That is the natural reaction. I can only imagine how very hard that is for the both of them living that reality. 

I am powerless to do shit. Which we know. Is a bit of a sore point with me. 

All I can do is listen. Be there when I can. Sympathise. Empathise. And. Offer any help I can - for what it's worth. Which in my shit state, isn't much.

This is life though.

I think. Much of all you can do. Is just be there for people. Hey. I give a shit. I am sorry you are going through this. I am here. I will hold your hand. And I will try and be there along your path for you.

And that goes for whatever is going on. From minor to major. From mudane day to challenging one.

I personally think it is one of the secret pillars of the meaning of life. Support each other. Because. The world can be hard and shit. Just on any given Tuesday. So. Be kind.

Perhaps I am just some over emotional hippie.

Thank you inner critic.

But I don't think so. I think this shit is important.

I also see why something like prayers become the thing they do. It is really. I suppose. A manifestation of hope projection. Sending someone all the positive vibes they can when they can. 

Eh.

Anyway.

All I can do is hope. And trust that it will be alright in the end. And they will be alright in the end. And if not. I will walk beside them on that path as best I can. So that they are not alone. Because being alone with such things is terrible. I got to see all of this in slow motion with my mom. MS. That slowly erased her over time. It. Shows you things. Teaches you some horrible lessons.

Anyway anyway.

Positivity.

My friends have got this. Capable. Smart. Fighters.

Other topics.

A little while ago one of my very old friends who I kind of had a falling out with pinged me.

It was pure luck I saw the ping. I never check my pings. I am overwhelmed by the flood of bullshit, spam, and general internet fuckery where everyone suddenly has a great idea that just because you showed an interest in X, well, that means you want a ping every 10 minutes about in future. No. I do not. It frustrates me a lot. That mentality. Such a good idea. Lets bombard people with spam. That will surely endear them to us ! Are you genuinely insane ? Anyway. I don't check my pings. And yes. I know. I could spend a effort and sort those digital ducks out. But I don't. In my defence. I also have things like, 10,000 error pings sent from server X. 5,000 project status updates from client Y. Eh. Meh. Too much. Information overload. ( there is any irony in there as some of this is my field... about managing information... and at a personal level... I Don't do it... ho ho )

Anyway. The old friend. It would seem that he read a few pages from this blog. Never a great idea. This is as close as you get to peering inside my head. I have nothing to hide. But. Getting a full flow of a largely uncensored thought stream is not the usual human interaction level. Human social handshaking relies on a whole host of polite lies, masking, and enforced stability. Which isn't even about outright lying or even being malicious. It's just that. People aren't used to radical honesty. Or. Experiencing just how random someones moods and internal thoughts can be. If everyone could read everyone elses thoughts, anarchy would ensue. Social structures would disintegrate on the spot. And a lot of fights would probably break out.

Again. This doesn't mean people are naturally duplicitous, or shit bags, or whatever. It's just a symptom of a human being a random bag of impulses, intrusive thoughts, fears, hopes et al. But mask projecting wise, people seem a whole lot more stable and reliable. And that whole. Well. If you seem like that for a lot of the time. With no contradictory evidence, then surely you must be like that. I mean. No. But. Society literally hangs together on that pretty narrative.

So on reading it seemed it touched an empathy response. Was I ok. That sounds shit. 

There is that difficult balance I find.

When people ask me if I'm ok.

There are two paths here.

Sure. I'm ok. Move on.

No. I'm obviously not ok. I walk through various landscapes of hell on a daily basis. I accrue a stupid amount of experience at dealing with horrors and stresses, my own in spades, and others as a side hobby.

But.

People don't want to hear the second one. It's. An unfair burden on them. Particularly if you don't have that close of a relationship with them.

The boundary of oversharing. Burden.

Tricky.

Which way do you go.

This also is one of those moments where again, if peoples thoughts were just broadcast. It would be too much. People would continually walk straight into walls of misery. Crazy. Anxiety. Bumping from one emotional turmoil to the next.

How much easier society is when all that is masked away. That's not a criticism per se. It needs to be like that to a certain extent. Otherwise nothing would ever get done. You build firedoors in buildings for a reason. To stop the fire spreading. If everyone is subsumed in the gestalt of misery. No one is going to tend to the farm. Man the fire engine. Or provide any kind of service.

There is of course. That delightful balance between firewalling. And then grasping that with both hands, firewalling everything in life until you are a classic avoidant type of person, unable to deal with emotions or difficult decisions, and everything is a firm push away from you whilst you live in a permanent state of denial. Head in sand. Problem ? What problem. I can't see any problems down here !

Yeah. No bueno.

In the end I went middle of the road ish to my old friend. With a heavy lean to polite masking.

I'm ok. Dealing with shit. It's miserable. But. You get on with it.

Which. Is true.

It of course lacks any kind of context.

I mean. As Douglas Adams once said. Earth. Mostly Harmless. From far enough away, from a meta enough level. Everything tends towards an abstraction of Nothing To See Here. Up close. It doesn't begin to portray the mayhem going on. And a similar observation from Adams again. That. If you work out which planets have life. And how big the universe is. Then. At that high level meta. The average. The math. Life becomes nothing more than a rounding error. So statistically tiny as to be what would be considered an error margin. And therefore. Life. At that summary level. Doesn't exist. It's just in your imagination. Which is a wonderful and comedic poke at the limitations of continually high level abstracting. In the end. It doesn't resemble anything of what you started with.

( and remember, that language itself is just a recursive abstraction form. Each step encompassing bigger ideas, but with less and less accuracy, until at the top, it has lost all meaning, and errors in communication become rife. Signal. To Noise. Overcompressed. Over abstracted. ) 

My friend followed up with a check if I was getting out.

No.

And that was that.

Very short. Sweet. Done.

I am not entirely sure what to make of it. Other than of course, concern. A bout of empathy.

I briefly talked with another friend about it, trying to get it from an outside context. Because. I never really trust myself. I don't think you ever can. Problems with the subjective viewpoint and all that. It's always wise to ask the person on the other side of the elephant what they see, lest you get sucked into your belief that all elephants have two legs, one eye, and a trunk - from your point of view.

You're overthinking it he said. He just thinks kindly about you, that's all.

Me ? Overthink.

As if. 

So I have adopted the wisdom of my friend.

And left it at that.