Aug 17

 I've spent the week recovering and working. Mostly recovering.

Monday was therapy day, my last for a few weeks - shrink is on holiday. I had to drag myself out given I had little energy and the like.

Tuesday I was nailed into the floor. Going out Monday during a period of "recovery" from a severe exhaustion period did not apparently go down well with my tortured system.

Tuesday I felt so ill, it was again one of those moments where it crosses my mind that I cannot go on like this. Surely. At some point. Something is going to break under the strain. I can't keep being this ill and it not at some point finally breaking something. I wish it would finish me off. I know that's not how it works however. It will just probably... further debilitate me.

As Tuesday turned into late afternoon I geared up to work. A problem was dropped in my lap. And I burned on it until very late in the evening, not long before midnight. Not clever.

The following day was rough as fuck, I worked, crunching most of the day to get through a problem. But by the end of the day I was flaking out hard.

Thursday, I worked again until exhaustion at about midday. And then slept. All the way around the clock pretty much. Friday. I slept again, with a little window. Feeling super frail. 

Saturday yesterday I was at a "better point". It's shit. I can't go far without exhausting out. I can't do much without starting to feel ill. Standing up makes me dizzy. Yada. Blah. Whatever. And this is me doing "better".

Regardless. I strived to do tiny little chores. Something useful. 5 minutes standing up at the sink doing some washing up before I flake out. Take an hour or so of rest. Repeat. I did this 3 or 4 times. And made useful headway in getting things in the kitchen back to a relatively clean and tidy state. The house itself is like an impossible mountain to climb. I realise in reality that it is too much for me to deal with. I have to block that out and focus my view on the very small and just leave the rest to itself. Much like all of my existence. Focus on what is possible. Not what isn't. Which in the happy uplands of a conventional non chronically ill life, sounds lovely. Down in the swampy lands of the abyss that boils down to being ok with having to sleep all the time and watch a thing or two on TV before slumping back. A very different prospect from considering only going on two vacations this year instead of three in some middle class idyll.

This week I am burned out from people again.

My mood is edgy. I can feel that I am sensitive. Fragile. Not mentally in a good place, but, for the moment, looks somewhat normal. Like a fence that has no support and just by a trick of placement is upright. Until the first gentle breeze comes along and pushes it over.

My mentals are a mix of the usual - struggle at always being ill and suffering, sometimes horrendously, sad at having lost the things that I have, my life being one of them, but also, my mentals are a burn out on people. No matter what I do. Who I am. You will always be kicked for it. Punished. Minor and major. I know this. I know this to be true. That no good deed goes unpunished. That the face of the wall that you are chipping away at is unscalable. But that's not the point. You do the thing anyway. Be the example you want to see in the world. Treat others how you want to be treated. And all that. All of which is very true.

But as the line goes.

I'm tired boss.

I am tired of the insanity. Tired of having to deal with people and their irrationalities. Fears. Egos. Constant manoeuvring to gain advantage, favour, stroke their fragile egos. I get it. It's very human. And I don't particularly lay blame at anyones feet. Figuring out how to be a "decent" human is an ever moving difficult target that has an enormous area for failure and a relatively tiny one for success. I get it. But equally. I'm tired of it. It's not even a distant issue. Of course you can see the ills of the world. The polarisation. The lack of understanding all round. The exultation of greed. Of selfishness. But. It's not just that. It's in the small things. The flaws of everyone. It's tiring.

I have realised. That no matter what I do. There is no fixing some things. Like shovelling sand into a bottomless pit to try and fill it.

I think even if I was at full strength I would find this challenging.

As it is.

I'm tired.

That comment from the shrink a few weeks ago about how they thought I resembled Dr Manhattan rings in my ears. I am tired of this Earth, these people.....  I get it. I think I'm just tired of having to deal with the human reality. I find us to be a chaotic squabbling species. Inconsistent. Capable of horrific things. And some good things. The ways we can break are many. And so damaging. Each can radiate and cause second hand damage. Like a broken reactor core spewing radiation into its environment and causing everyone in its vicinity to become sick.

Anyway.

The horrible paradox here, is that I do need some level of contact with someone I think. Otherwise I just spiral down into the inevitable. My own broken dysfunctions. Or perhaps just my normal human programming rebelling at not being social. The paradox there is. A need for social connection to survive. Social connection also being anathema full of potential energy drains, dysfunction and toxicity. Not always the case of course. Perhaps. That's just what it is. Perhaps that's just all of what it is. I need to be more careful about what I take on and with whom. Be careful about where I spend energy. And be mindful to at least sometimes think of myself and get some "love" back. 

Eh well.

This week at the shrink we talked about last weeks crash. And the horrible day. Where I desperately wished for death. It seemed. Important. Ho. Ho. We talked again about how difficult it was to deal with the exhaustion. I pointed out that I was just going round the grief cycle with it repeatedly. And then add in a dose of sadness over loss, and it was... horrific. Feeling sick. Feeling hopeless. Isolated. And a pit of grief. Fun times.

None of this is at all news. I foresaw all of this. As ever, I thought I'd be dead by now. One way, or another. But here I still am. Suffering. Like a dickhead. Unable to move on.

The shrink offered an emotion.

I am glad you are still here they said.

And not dead from suicide the implied other half of that sentence said. 

And they meant it.

They were glad. I was still here.

...

...

ouch

That hurt.

I had to take a moment. To try and calm the sadness. The hurt. The pain in my stomach. I blinked away tears.

You can't say that to me I said.

I can't ? said the shrink. The teeniest tiniest hint of mischief.

Of course you can. It just makes me sad. It upsets me. I paused. I think perhaps. I don't get a lot of that sentiment expressed*. And I don't know what to do with it. But that's also ridiculous. Because I know if I asked a lot of people would say a similar thing about not wanting me to die.

We talked about it some. I brought up I was also very bad at accepting thanks. In the past I had been horribly uncomfortable with it and would dismiss it or even worse, undermine it. I said I had worked on that. Got better practiced at accepting thanks. Even though. I didn't really feel it. At the very least, I was more graceful in accepting it. But that too. All of that. Was a high sign of not being given any kind of affection or encouragement as a kid. My formative years were a desert of any kind of emotional support or even interest. And it showed. I am the textbook definition of it. You can read about it. 

I don't exactly know this one.

There is something very emotional about suicide. Duh. Yes. Duh. But I mean. There is something horribly emotional for me when someone else acknowledges it. Or truly appreciates how much pain I am in. And I am not entirely sure why. I can take a guess. That it is a function of "being seen". Of someone giving you the very smallest level of concern - something which I was starved of as a kid, and am pretty bereft of as an adult. But for most of it. I just get on with it. Shrug off concern, or thanks, or care. But. Pull on that string. Particularly suicide. And the wall of emotion rolls forwards like a tsunami.

I suppose if I think about it. I don't know what to do with it. I talked with the shrink about it. Of course I understand the mechanics of it. I said like a lot of things if you don't get to practice it as a kid, you are ill prepared for it as an adult. It's like "socialising" a dog. You endeavour to get them to experience many things as an adaptable pup, so that by the time they are an adult, they have a template and an experience of many things and don't freak out. The same goes for humans. If you raise a child to have no emotions. Guess what. When they are an adult. They struggle to deal with emotions.

For me. This is care. And love. And encouragement. I don't know what to do with it. Don't get me wrong here. I crave love. I am low key, well controlled, but nevertheless hellbent on finding meaningful connections with people. That for me is a very high priority. When I have the energy et al of course. And I think it's because of that implied closeness. Understanding at the very least. Peace. Harmony. Listening to the beat of someones heart. It is perhaps a primal bond. One that I didn't have as a kid. And now as an adult am forever chasing. Or used to.

But care. People showing me admiration. I. Don't entirely know what to do with it. I have practiced some aspects of it. Slap a smile on. Graciously say thanks. And then move on. Don't talk about it. It's not thought about. Think about a problem to crunch instead. 

That is hardcore my upbringing. I absolutely have my parents to thank for that. Brutal. And incredibly isolating. Part of my loaded deck.

I also talked to the shrink of how some of that to some extent was not exactly uncommon back in the day either. I know a number of older people with ballpark experiences. The shrink agreed it was more of a cultural thing back in the day. But still. Variations. Levels of intensity.

I brought up a weird thing I had recently seen. Bob Monkhouse of all people. Talking about how his mother had never showed him any affection. Had hugged him once - when they were cowering in a bomb shelter. The interviewer was low key horrified. Never. Hugged ? No said Bob.

Yep. Been there. Done that. I get it.

The horrified expression of the interviewer was something though. Oh. "This Is Not Normal". And this was an interview from back in the day. Old school. Not the more modern sensibilities where most of that bullshit has fortunately been corrected.

Anyway.

I guess the shrink was fulfilling part of their duty.

Making me feel seen.

We had already explicitly discussed this as being a "useful bit of therapy".

And here they are.

Telling me they are glad I am not dead.

This neatly segued into a criticism I have for therapy. We talked about it. I gave the comedic analogy of therapy being a ten foot pole with a rubber glove on one end, and the therapist at the other using it to stroke the head of the person from as far away as possible.

I said, as the shrink had noted, the relationships in therapy were "alien". They were heavily boundaried and policed. The irony here being that a huge chunk of psychology involves how humans interact with each other. The social contact. And yet. Therapy by and large, as a starting point, divorces itself from all of that and attempts an approach that is much more clinical. I said that you end up throwing the baby out with the bathwater. That therapists have "no skin in the game". I said that what the shrink saw of me in these sessions was missing a huge chunk of who I am. Who I am around others. And it was something they would never get to see. Never properly understand. Which then for the therapist means they have one hand tied behind their back.

It is. Far from optimal.

But. Necessary. I said I completely understood why it was like that. Because if a therapist emotionally attached to each patient, well, they would last two weeks before burning out emotionally. And they'd need a lot more therapy for themselves than they got. I get it. But also. It compromises your capability to reach people. To help.

I said. That, in my unprofessional hedge witch therapist role, was a big difference for me. I gave a shit. I was emotionally connected. And yes. You get hurt. Kicked. Damaged. And yes. It burns. But. You end up being more helpful. It also fits with my no sense of self worth thing. I am unimportant. Therefore. What does it matter if I burn up in the attempt. No loss.

The shrink was uncomfortable with my points. They disagreed about not "having any skin in the game". I care. They said. I can see that you do I said. It is one of the few things the shrink shows - actual care. But still. I explained more carefully. This wasn't a black and white situation. You are human. Yes you can care. But. You aren't connected. You walk out of the office. Work day done. Move on. This is wholly different from someone you care about. It is one thing to care. It is another thing to care about someone. One is just a feeling. The other is a relationship.

I caveated the whole discussion with the fact that this was not my attempt to penetrate the shrinks boundaries and get them to drop some of them. I was not trying to manipulate my way into seeing them more. We talked a bit about that. About how the session would then not be just about me. It would then also be about the shrink. About their issues. And that it was my money. My time. It should be about me. The thought I had that didn't get expressed was - did you ask me if I would be ok with that. Because. I wouldn't mind sharing ! I could also be about the shrink. I'd be ok with that. The ugly spectre of capitalism rises its head. Payment. For a service. Versus. Just two people. Talking. And helping each other. Capitalism. Fucks the relationship up. Of course.

We also talked a little this week about "supernatural events". I opened the session actually asking the shrink - if I was allowed - where they stood on supernatural, higher power, spooky things. At one end of the spectrum an ultra rational stand point, and at the other, a completely superstitious belief in everything. They evaded the question. They said it would "colour" my opinion. I get it. They asked if I was checking to see how to tailor what I would say. No. Don't care. Ordinarily I would, and code switch the audience. But they're a shrink. So. Less of that. However. For all their evasion. Their answer leaked through. They weren't sure. Not at one end or the other. Up the rational end. But wary of putting any kind of statement on it.

They did evade.

But they also secretly wanted to tell me. 

The usual human bullshit dance of conscious mind says one thing, sub conscious mind really wants to do another.

Listen carefully. Read the body language.

Actual information received.

We went on to talk about the spooky coincidences that have happened to me. What it meant to me. Subjectively. What it meant as a bigger picture. They said they were very interested in hearing peoples accounts of such things. I talked about Ares and my dad. Last week and my niece. And the many occasions I have synced with someone spookily well. Known how they were doing before I asked. Had something they needed right at that minute. Reached out and talked to them at a crisis point. It is. Spooky. But I just note it. Shelve it. And move on.

I theorised that in the end it was just the human brain doing its human thing. Not understanding the breadth of the universe and instead simplifying it down to "spooky" when it was no such thing. Faces in clouds. Castles in the sky. It is, I said, probably a really good demonstration of just how far our subjective view point can get. In a way. You are looking back objectively on your own limitations. Even though it really feels like a thing. It isn't. And you can kind of see we can't grasp the scope of it. So we invent something instead. I said I could very much understand how in different times and different environments all manner of religions and beliefs get started. The shrink agreed. This is how you start major religions.

I said I was open minded about it. It was one of the few things I didn't over think.

I said it had crossed my mind whether, if you were entertaining it as something more than just our limited shitty brains failing badly at comprehending large probabilities, that perhaps we all did share a connection. Threads. Linked together. Unreliable. Shaky. Easily drowned out. But maybe we all were connected somehow. And sometimes. Messages went along those lines.

It's not entirely beyond the scope of reason or reality. There are some possible hints it could be a thing. It almost certainly isn't. But maybe. You can talk about quantum entanglement for one thing. Two particles intrinsically linked with each other. At a distance. With no apparent connection in between. Currently. This is our understanding of quantum physics. This is a Thing. It's not beyond the realm of madness to imagine this might have consequences to all things. A connection. To all things. Just. Probably not though.

It is almost certainly, overwhelmingly instead, just a human incapability to deal with really really big numbers. And past a certain point math transforms into magic. Not because it's magic. But because we're shit at math. 

In any case. The shrink asked some more down to earth questions.

How it made me feel. When someone connected. Or I connected with someone else. They said it seemed I had a positive reaction to it. Yes. Of course. It's a good thing. 

This week overall made me feel melancholy. To be honest. I was not good when I went in there. I was not good on the way out. The shrink could tell. 

I think. Not that I am doing it intentionally. I am slowly shifting my shrink around. A subtle manipulation. Ho hum. It is. Part of. Seeing the world as I do. Which they want to know. You can't do that just purely by being an observer. Some of it you have to live in. And that. You end up beginning to truly walk in my footsteps. Which isn't great. Particularly for a shrink. But eh. We shall see. The shrink is robust. They can, perhaps, walk away as well as towards. Maybe. 

Then again. Every conversation if you frame it that way, is just a manipulation. Teaching someone something. Is just a manipulation. It moves someone from a point of not understanding their times table, to understanding their times table. Perhaps manipulation is the wrong word. It isn't. But. Perhaps the connotation of manipulation is intent. Or lack of consent. But again. It isn't.

I think the reality of the world is. Everything you touch, you also get touched by. There is no way round that. As one of my favourite miserable Nietszche sayings goes, if you gaze long into the abyss, the abyss also gazes into you.

But it is part of reality. Physics. Everything. You cannot exist in the universe. Without it impacting you. And you impacting it. Everything then, is a manipulation. Nothing can be carried out in isolation.

 

* The shrink saying they were glad I was still here. No one else said that to me. Of the billions of people on the planet, only one voiced the fact that they were glad I was still here. Someone who I see for an hour a week. In an artificial boundaried relationship. This is not me bemoaning poor me not having someone give a shit. Because I know for a fact that isn't true. What it is demonstrating is the isolation. The lack of positive feedback. This is a huge phenomenon for many people in the modern world. We are all connected and yet we are not. It is not enough to have someone who knows you and maybe 12 months ago thought that would be sad. That isn't a fucking connection at that level. It's a mailing list. A fucking email CC group. This is my reality. I walk through almost all of my horrifying experiences alone. Almost no one sees my battles. Or how close I get. Christ. Most people don't even know how ill I become. For them. It is some theoretical. In some horrible cases they even doubt I get ill. Perhaps. I should just try fucking harder.  Sure. All known fucking ailments can be cured by just trying harder. No need for research or anti biotics. Just wish that infection away.

For fuck sakes. 

Meh.