Aug 31

 The screw turns. Tired today. I could feel it. But I decided to move about, consider cooking some dinner. On a whim I decided to make some yorkshire puddings. Easy. Eggs, flour, milk, whisk. And yet. By the time I stuck them in the oven I felt ill. Really ill. Eyes had sunk into my head, a feeling like they were being sucked into my head. My arms were heavy. Nausea. And my heart skittered. A faint sweat broke out. I felt so goddamn ill. Like. Everything is about to go sideways ill.

I sat down.

And I thought about my shit predicament.

Can't even do the simplest of things without a wave of severe illness.

I wished it would end. Just. Just. Break something already. Let it spiral out of control. Kill me. Whatever it's spiralling towards. A heart attack. A stroke. A fit. Whatever it is.

It is. At some deep level. Scary. I can feel that existential end come up from the depths. Oh. This is it. Where I feel so ill. Suddenly. Not a flu. Not a stubbed toe. Something else. And I know. There is no help for me. No one is going to help me. No one is going to save me. I just have to be here. And deal with it. Alone. And I wonder what is the correct response. Am I supposed to just relax into it. Just. Let go. Am I supposed to panic ? Am I supposed to kick and scream and demand someone please help me.

But I can't face the jaded stares. The pointless repeated blood test. The indifference. The off handed callousness. I am an inconvenience.

People will deny it.

And yet.

Words are cheap. Society will say one thing. And do another. The way of the world. Say one thing. Do another.

But. That's all. In the end philsophical.

I am at the pointy end. The real end. The practical end.

I know in my heart that my end has come. Has already come to be honest. And I am just here. I don't know. Stalling for time. Waiting to see if something changes. Am I right ? But I already know.

And so what.

I am just expected to sit quietly. And wait. Wait for something to finally break in some ugly way. There are no good endings here. No one wants to talk about it. Or think about it. It's so much easier when you just imagine someone is Over There, and you Don't Have To Worry About It.

I am sad.

About so many things.

I can see the fucked up arc of my life covered by the shadow of my upbringing. I am more aware than ever the serious damage that was inflicted on me and my siblings. I get it. You get on with it. You don't make a fuss. But the scars are wide and deep. Each of us twisted out of shape of what a normal person should be.

What was the point of it all.

And I was not born out of love.

I was a means to an end.

I was brought into this world as a means to an end. I have known a lot of suffering. I have grown up under a twisted upbringing.

It feels like. In retrospect. From a high altitude. That my life is a horrible joke.

Hum ho.

I am calm. Melancholy. Not crazy. And I sit. And wish for an end. I think about it. That knife. How much would it hurt. What does it matter.

Shrink tomorrow.

Hazel has offered to meet me in the city. She flies out on Wednesday.

Life is just so much noise. Some mad cap screechy tune. Bumping around. Full of nonsensicals. The unimportant. Chaos. And noise. And busy. Just. Go away. I am so tired of all of it.

Tomorrow is another day Johnny. Today is a bad day. Tomorrow will be a better day. Wait.

Thin.