Jul 25

 "Ask me again 2 hours later" I noted yesterday.

Yeah.

Yesterday was not better. 

It was better for a short while. And then it got worse. Way worse. That, oh I need to go back to sleep was the start of a dramatic slide down at the end of yesterdays blog. Yesterdays blog caught the tipping point of change from one state to the next.

Yesterday was, from the weeks perspective, my worst day yet. A complete write off. No games. No TV. No activity. No food. Barely a drink. A visit to the bathroom twice. And a whole lot of suffering. Nausea. A headache that slowly shifted into a migraine. Exhaustion that no amount of sleep could fill up.

I had to sleep. And sleep. And sleep. Each blip of wakefulness coming into a state of suffering. I tried at one point seeing if shaking it off, sitting upright, sipping some water made it better. No. Worse. Increasingly worse. Ok. Fuck. Sleep. Misery.

So.

That's my fault. I pushed it yesterday when I already knew I didn't feel good. I was frustrated with it. Pushed.

And paid a big price. A big enough price that it has again taught me a lesson. Hand in fire gets burned. Would you like to do that again ? Uh. No. Ok. I get it. Don't push.

How long that lesson lasts remains to be seen. It wont last forever. At some point the painful lesson will fade a bit, and I will reckon I can take the piss again. Because I am a genius like that. Very human. It suddenly occurs to me in a weird parallel, isn't this exactly what people with hangovers do. Get taught a lesson about drinking too much, vow to never do it, only to do exactly that again the following week. Uh huh. If I had a pound for everytime I had that set of conversations with work colleagues, nursing bad heads in pubs, I'd be significantly richer than I am.

It's now early hours middle of the morning. This is also why my sleep schedule is often so far out of whack. And difficult to pull back into shape. Because me feeling ill dictates when and how long I sleep. And any kind of arbitrary control about when you get up and when you sleep goes out the window in the face of coping with trying not to feel shit all the time. 

I still feel like shit. But less shit than before. Enough to wake up. And stay awake. And maybe think about getting something to drink and something to eat. I don't want to eat. But I get that not doing so may just make things worse. I mean, eating may also make things worse. It seems then, on balance, logically, eating a little is probably the more sensible route. Whether I want to eat something. Or thinking what to enjoy is not any part of this consideration. It's just mechanics. Enjoyment wise, I don't want to look at food right now. I feel sick. But not critically sick. I think. I can eat. And not actually be sick.

What a delightful time we have Johnny. Lots of lovely leisure time. Enjoying life. And the world. Ho, fucking, ho.

I have made this clear to Andy several times. In my time off. I don't spend it enjoying myself. Going out. Doing shit. I spend it suffering and in a state of recovery. It's rare I get to go out and enjoy a half day like I did on Monday. And look where that gets me. I get punished for it.

Anyway.

Pfft.

Marvellous.

My brain has started ticking over again. Out of the abject pits of survival into wow we feel shit, but, we can start thinking again ? Great. Here's todays things.

Ha. Jeez. Ok.

I think I have entirely figured out my old man. I mean. I kind of had anyway. But. I have pulled it all into a very succint neat form. Clearly explainable. And relatable in greater human terms. Common patterns, weaknesses and strengths. I even figured out I think - for the first time - why he was driven to always be that person that stood up, faced down nutcases, and didn't flinch. One of the very unusual traits of my old man was absolutely to be the person to confront any kind of dickhead. On the train where everyone keeps their head down in the face of something scary, my old man would be the one on his feet at the first sign of bullshit, and square up to whatever lunatic was roaming around. Almost, when you watched it, self destructively, like tempting the universe to wipe him out ( including notoriously his square up to someone that would go on to murder their other half and dog with a hammer, properly one of the violent crazies ). No fear. But. I believe I know why he did it now. And it's the same as everything else he has ever done. Ironically the reverse of what he projected. Namely fear. I am not going to get into the deeps of it at the moment. But. I think that's it entirely. Basically, a world experience that gets distilled into two things, fear and anger, where anger is then used to distill that final thing of fear into just anger. So you get an almost one dimensional response to everything. Anger. Humour gets a free pass. That's ok.

Hmm.

At risk of making me feel shit again, I am gonna keep this shortish. ( lies )

The other thing that has rattled around my brain is once again mulling over the nature of this blog. Shrinks are very keen on people keeping journals. Even if its something you write down, then immediately destroy. In fact. In some aspects. That's the perfect form of it. Because then those journalled moments don't have a chance to be shared inappropriately with others or, be allowed to be used by you to spiral, dwell or otherwise.

Writing this down is very useful. I have known that from the start. When my brain was so sketchy at that point, that writing something down was almost like a calming excercise. Not that it stopped me particularly going off the rails. But it was pushing in the opposite direction. Like trying to slow your breathing and count. Calm. And I knew to do that from a long time ago, when I also did that as a not really realising it form of therapy, and it also documented me sliding off into my first diagnosed meltdown. Ringside seats to me going nuts. ( those entries are now lost to the internet. but not really. i do have a copy of them deep in one of my media stores, now only accessible offline ).

Anyway. 

It's useful. From one point of view it allows a certain amount of steam to be bled off like a pressure valve. You talk to yourself. To someone else. And it's a form of being able to allowing yourself to process it. To acknowledge things. How you feel. Why you thought that. It's useful. 

The other benefit is that tricky psychological one. Where talking through something, or writing about something, makes your brain process it in a different way. I've written about this phenomenon before. In exactly the same way. But I'm gonna repeat myself here - sometimes I find *that* useful, as you refine it, and perfect it, until at some point, you have a condensed polished "truth". That is, to me, and I think commonly, part of the process of truly learning something. Going over it again. Poking it from different angles.

Back on topic. 

Writing stuff down does something to the whole thought process and experience of it. It changes it. Absolutely. 100%. Not snake oil. I suppose you can think of this like, if your brain is made up of different processing areas. One does sound. One does vision. One does prediction. Coordination. Etc. Then. Whilst experiencing things happens in some areas. And thinking about them in another. The act of communicating them out is something else again. And that process, as it turns out, impacts the bit of it that just sits in your thought space. Like a quantum particle, the act of measuring it forever alters the original form ( quantum waveform collapse or more popularly, schroedingers (ridiculous) cat ). But it isn't some high art bit of quantum physics. It's just that literally, as it gets processed by your communication bit, the thing itself changes. This is our brains all over. We don't hold statics in our head. Everything is far more nebulous than we think. As the shrink again confirmed a few weeks ago about memory - we were just agreeing we understood it - "memory changes everytime in the retelling". I guess another way to think about it is sand and water. Everytime you touch a thought or memory - sand - to do that you are a stream of water pouring over it. And everytime you do, the sand shifts a little in the flow. Each action then has a consequence. This is very much not like a computer. Or some video. Or picture. Whilst at a meta level you can think of it like that. And that works. The nuts and bolts of it are nothing like that. In terms of a digital file. Perhaps it would be fairer to say, that everytime you play that music track, you also re-record it whilst doing so and save it back to file. And no saving of the file ever quite matches what it was. Perhaps the differences sometimes are neglible. But over time. Those differences can mount. Or the recording fades over time. Becoming fainter. Bits are lost. Bits are filled in with other stuff. And it's not consistent. Maybe some of your music tracks you have a very good re-recoding capability of. They stay to a higher degree of original accuracy. But some will warp. And the kicker. You often wont be able to tell the difference between the accurate ones and the inaccurate ones. Particularly if you're not aware that that can be a thing, and also, to listen carefully to yourself in the retrieval. Wait. Is that right ? I think I am mis-remembering that. .  .

Anyway. Waffle. And starting to feel worse.

Short version.

This writing out of a blog is useful to me. Therapeutic. Cathartic. It is not meant to be consumed by anyone else. In fact. It has distinct risks to be so. In a lot of ways I should just delete everything I write once I have written it.

But I don't.

I think there is some use in being able to go back and read what I said. For one thing. Like that memory deal above. Capturing it in digital form absolutely ensures that my own analogue squishy brain isn't mis remembering shit. Once it's encoded digitally, it's going to stay that way.

Also it helps me to see things I have kind of forgotten. The patterns. Oh. Yeah. I did feel like that back then too. It also helps track direction. Or deterioration.

It's not all beneficial.

Reading some of these entries is like a minefield to me. It can trigger strong emotional responses. Sadness. Grief. All sorts. It can instantly re-open wounds. And I feel those moments all over again. And their underlying causes.

But that's ok. I know to excercise a bit of caution with it. And despite some of it hurting. That's also not always a bad thing either. To feel how much it mattered. It can put things into perspective. And drive some inkling of why certain things are important. Always.

Also. Really cool. Me reading some of these journals I get to play the sleight of hand trick on myself. Where I am reading about someone else not myself, and therefore, my reactions to this other person are not the same as if it was me. Intellectually, duh, I know it's me. I don't sit here wondering what madmans blog I've just discovered. But there's that psych trick. Transfer all you are and feel and everything else into some other imaginary person. And now consider how you think about them. It can give you a very useful bump of awareness which highlights your own biases. Mine. Is to downplay everything I feel or that happens to me. To criticise. To soldier on. To not sympathise with myself. When I flip it outside. I am horrified for that person. I feel an immense sympathy for them. A real drive to help them. To tell them I am sorry for them. To tell them I am there. I understand.

Which is hilariously different to my own internal relationship. It's useful. It shows you your own biased bullshit. And. You can then work on it. Hey. This is inconsistent. We should try not to be such a dick to ourselves. Show compassion. We are compassionate to others. We could try a little compassion for ourselves too.

And I have done that. Am doing that. I am getting better at patting myself on my head and saying I know it sucks my dude. And I am sorry. And feeling sad about that. 

As an aside that same sleight of hand trick in question form is one of my all time favourite things to ask people. Set out as a scenario where you teleport yourself and end up duplicating yourself, what do you think about them. Or feel. Or do. First thoughts only. Don't overthink it. And also. Most importantly. Don't listen to anyone elses answers before yours ( because otherwise it absolutely gets biased and influenced by the groupthink - see reference how peoples memories are easily pushed around by others memories of the same thing ) .

The question is not mine. Credit where credit is due. My old friends idea. Not super in his wheelhouse either. Or even. At all. But. He pulled a diamond out of the ether with that one. I don't really know where he got it from. In any case I have loved it ever since and, at least in the past, sprung it on any number of people who I want to get a sneaky insight into. I love how beautifully it often works with that sleight of hand. In the keenly perceptive ( and or defensive ) they smell the sleight of hand coming. In all the times I have asked that question. I have only ever had one person refuse at the fence so to speak. Oh no. I know what that question is asking. I'm not going to answer that. I already know I have a lot of problems. The non answer - and its form - is itself an answer. It shows how much of a complicated - and slightly dysfunctional - relationship they have with themselves. High insecurities. And an avoidance from the light. Interesting. It's a great question. Once posed. No matter the persons response. It tells you something about them. Even if they dont answer at all and walk away. That too tells you something.

Delightfully nefarious. But it's not malicious. Perhaps mischievious at worst. But really. Just a way to get people to realise things about themselves. And also tell me things about them they wouldn't as easily just blurt out. Which of course. I adore. Tell me. About you. Pretty please. I find people fascinating.

It's a powerful question. And something of a trap in many ways. It should be used with some caution really if you're being very strictly high art mindful - so don't ask this of someone severely struggling ( particularly if its self loathing ). Like a lot of ideas or idle bits of chatter, the propagation of a thought can have profound effects on those you transmit it to. Some care should be employed in telling everyone Santa isn't real for instance. Or this Jesus dude seems like a good guy to follow, but that other dude should be killed on sight. But then again. These potential mindbombs are part of life. You have to deal with the constant transmission of information. Good. Bad. Compelling. Mundane. Fear inducing. Calming. Albeit. Yes. There are differences in payload. Most of the time. There are few if any consequences about finding out what the latest price of petrol is. Versus, revealing some inner point of view to yourself, or those around you that you might not have considered before and sends you spiralling. Therapy itself can be a bit of a minefield of unexploded devices that you get to walk through occasionally setting one of them off. At least. If you're not very aware of who you are and what drives you.

This is why I think that the whole concept of thoughts, ideas, anxiety, neuroticism, paranoia, and a whole range of mental dysfunctions are very transmissible. And like covid, can spread very quickly from person to person, infecting the zeitgeist, and unlike covid, transmit at the speed of light down copper cables.

In the age of the internet with a copper cable in every room, every hand, every child. This is Existential risk stuff. In a prior age with no copper cables and ideas that can only spread at the speed of a dude on a horse. It's way way less of an existential threat.

There is enormous risk in putting everyone in the same room. And waiting for one of them to sneeze. The internet. Has put everyone - digitally - in the same room. Including the deranged. And malicious actors. 

And also this whole transmissible mental dysfunction/whatever thing is highly overlooked and widely not even realised in my humble opinion. Do you realise. How dangerous. The "wrong" message can be. Over your bloody whatsapp or in your tiktok.

Even when there are good examples of people being radicalised to blow themselves up in the same of mystic shoe beasts. Oh yes. Radicalised. Groomed. My dudes. This can apply to all ideas. Not just your pet theology you don't like. It applies to any number of domestic things. In your back garden. Hate. Fear. Genocide. *cough* America *cough*.

Anyway. 

Right. That's enough.

I am going to see if I can find something shit to eat. I have arse all in, and I am about 1% capable of making anything. So. It's going to be a blast.