Jul 5

 The fatigue continues to gnaw on me. It has been worse. But. I am struggling with it at the moment. Perhaps I am still paying for my increased activity last week. If so, then that's Friday, Saturday, Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday and Friday of payment, at varying levels.

It's frustrating. Often if my mentals are anything but in the abyss, I have an idea of the things I want to do in a day. Typically the evening before. Tomorrow I can do X. I should do Y. And. It seems plausible. And easy. And then tomorrow comes. And I can't move. And am exhausted. I shuffle to the bathroom. Try to stay awake and wake up, and shrug it off. But it doesn't shrug off. It gets worse. And inevitably I sleep again. The day passes. It is evening. I have lost the opportunity to do shit. And here we are back at step 1. Tomorrow. I can do X. I should do Y.

Uh huh.

Infuriating, depressing, frustrating, hopeless. I vary mentally with the approach. Is it a hopeless day. Is it an angry day. Depressed. It's a rotation of emotions railing against my situation.

Eh well.

Peace.

Breathe.

Take enjoyment from being able to watch something on TV for a few hours in the dark hours when sometimes it feels a bit better. Is that ? A bit of positivity ? Huh.

This morning, on my shuffle from bed, to bathroom and a struggle to not feel like shit, I saw I had some mail. I shuffled into the front room. Put down my drink and cereal. And immediately flashed an image of dogs. Athena. Ares. Wanting to know what I was doing. You got food ? We like food. I could see them just for a split second. I sighed and retrieved the mail. One heartbeat. Two heartbeats. That tsunami of sadness rising in the background. No. I know. I know. Stop. Let it go. The tsunami lessened but still crashed over me. So sad. All the things I had lost. The tiny existence I had left. Stop ! Let it go. Peace. And I left most of the sadness behind in the front room and returned to bed trailing a cloud of mindful numbness that was combating grief in my wake. It colours everything. It seeps into the house. The brickwork. Every fiber. It is me of course. Not the physical. But to me. My reality. It is steeped in the colour of grief. Rose tinted spectacles. Shit tinted spectacles. Grief tinted spectacles.

I have thought a lot about my relationship to loss. Sadness. That journey. From believing there was something uniquely horribly wrong with me. That I felt that pain so hard. For so long. Utterly awful. Clearly. I was broken. Neurotic to a high degree. And then slowly I saw I wasn't alone. Other people in the world also got wiped out by grief. There are others. Like me. Ok. Maybe I am not uniquely broken.

An absolute 1 for 1 repeated experience with me coming to terms with my depression wipeout all those years ago. The bewilderment. Fear. Belief you are uniquely broken. And then the understanding. I am not alone. This isn't as uncommon as you think. And there is a path where others have trod.

That understanding makes it a lot better I find. So so much better. It is. Understanding I suppose. And also that you are not alone. Not entirely insane. Yet.

And on that path I have seen that even some of the smartest wisest people. Get wiped out by grief. The shrink who spoke smartly about what the experience was like. What his experience with it was like. And the fact that it doesn't go away. 5 years. 10 years. It's still there. And occasionally rears up and swamps him.

Not just me.

Just. Very sensitive. Neurotic.

My therapist said the old saw. A few weeks ago. That the depth of loss reflected the depth of love. It was the price you paid for all that love.

I think so.

But still.

I think there are parts of me that are broken with this.

Perhaps it is just the series of losses one after another.

Maybe.

But I think there is something actually broken with me. A combination of things. The crystal clear memories. Ghosts. The understanding of what was lost. The inability to gracefully accept death.

Hum ho.

I miss it all.

It makes me ache. I get that punched stomach feeling. I can't dwell on it for too long. It is all consuming.

Flat. Cold. Logic.

I am not achieving anything. I am not enjoying myself. I don't have any future plans. Or desires. Or hope. I cannot enjoy much of life because I am trapped. I. Don't see the point. Why. Would you continue to play such a game ?

I rewatched the Sandman episode the sound of her wings today. I find the whole series frustrating. Some of it is appallingly shit. Appallingly shit. Some of it however gets ballpark to being as great as its source material. The sound of her wings episode gets close. About Death. I think it's probably the best episode of the series. You meet the impossibly cheery Death. And explore the fact that Dying is a gift. Maybe.

I reflected this was probably dubious watching for me. Do not give me positive messages about just up and dying.

I watched it. And I could feel it tugging at me. See. Death is ok. You could. Just die. It's ok. Look. Someone wrote something pretty about it.

The siren whispers.

It's just a stupid bit of writing from a flawed person. Do not ascribe any great meaning or insight into it. Perspective.

It is a lovely bit of writing and imagination.

But I have to discipline myself not to let it sway me when I am... susceptible... to its thread.