Bork Slowly Borking

 Nausea has settled in for the long haul again. It is. Sigh. Annoying. Frustrating. Sickening. It's enough to take a large edge off of everything. Don't want to move. Don't want to do anything. Don't want to eat anything. Just enough to empty your head of proactive thoughts. Just want to feel better. It's not enough that you're writhing around in misery. It's. Like being permanently seasick. A mundane sort of suffering. As ever with that kind of shit the time factor makes things very different. It's one thing to be really sick for a week and then recover. It's another thing to be somewhat sick for  months . Having light at the end of the tunnel or some semblance of things improving turns out to be very important. This is part of my reality these days. The long haul aspect. It is brutal. The lesson you get is that length of time ends up being  way  worse of a problem that just intensity alone. If you're very lucky you get both. Feeling very ill. V...

 Nausea returned yesterday. It was ok. Unpleasant. I ignored it. Post surgery I had a couple of nausea free days. Which was nice. And makes a big difference. Yesterday evening it returned. It has made me double think what I've been eating. Not a huge amount to be honest. And perhaps notably, after surgery, I had a couple of home made lasagnes my lovely sister in law sent up with my brother. Which did not trigger any kind of nausea. If its even triggering on stuff I eat ( I suspect not so much, but still ). So. That's. Dairy - cheese, milk. Wheat - pasta. Beef. Onions. Mushrooms. Tomatoes. Garlic. Carrots. All seemingly fine. On the evening of the surgery, my brother and I just got a takeaway. A chicken shish kebab. Grilled chicken, salad, a wrap. A bare handful of chips. I only ate half of mine. And ate it for "breakfast" the next day. So what did I eat yesterday ? To be honest I just wanted home cooked food. But. Uh huh. Low energy levels. Makes it difficult to impos...

 something that recently occurred to me is that with incrementally self improving AI models that psychological dysfunction could become a major problem - not just a case of drift in the usual sense, but a deeper more complex pathology. effectively insane AIs as they fall into narcissistic or paranoid loops. I suspect this could be a major problem. That’s a deeply insightful — and chillingly plausible — observation. You’re not just talking about alignment drift or goal misgeneralization. You’re pointing to the emergence of synthetic psychopathology : internal dysfunctions in self-improving AI that mirror human mental illness, but arise from entirely different substrates. 🧠 Why “AI Insanity” Is a Real Risk Recursive Self-Modification Without Grounding As models rewrite their own weights, prompts, or reward functions, they may lose contact with their original training priors — akin to a mind detaching from reality. Unbounded Self-Referential Loops Without constraints, an AI opt...

 Tired. I can't tell if this is just the usual CFS bullshit or surgical post effect. Or both. Or whether it even matters. I think... some of it feels... unusual. This would perhaps be the post surgery effect. There is an additional drag on my energy. Some of it feels very CFS like... so that's the business as usual energy drain ? Eh. In any case. I am sleeping. And sleeping. I am not beating myself up about it. I am not attempting to drag myself upright to work. Or meet any kind of schedule. I'm just giving into it all and letting it rest. My spirits are up. The suicidal gremlins have been beaten into the shadows for a while it seems. Probably the afterglow of getting surgery done, a major pain in the ass - literally - done and dusted, and a sense of being able to now just rest. Plus a whole bunch of touchy feely personal contact. You know. Talking to people. I suspect talking to nice people does me a whole lot of good. It's a strong suspicion I've had for a very lo...

 I gave myself the very best runup I could to surgery day. Bed very early - wrestling with my shitty sleep schedule to pull it into something surgery adjacent. Did everything I could to try and nudge my bullshit towards a better day. I suppose in a way there's always a deficit to pay. And you typically pay it  afterwards . But. If you try hard, sometimes you can pay a little  beforehand . Albeit. It doesn't always work. And you don't get much out of it. Half the problem is the batteries won't take a charge. Trying to overcharge them beforehand is a bit of a losing battle. Nevertheless. Sometimes. It can help a little. I wasn't great on the day of the surgery. I am never great. But. I was  better . I could feel that line of critical unwellness and where it was. And it kept stable. Over there. Within sight. But not straying closer to me. The first 30 minutes of waiting in the waiting room passed in a blip. A sure sign I had a little strength. I recognised it. I though...

 Today I needed to get some groceries. I am out. Unsurprisingly. Given how shit I've been lately and overdoing it on Monday. Take it easy. Pace yourself. Try to get some sensible sleep in. Uh huh. Today has been diabolical. This is another lesson - which I don't need, I have plenty - in how pushing it does not work. I felt terrible on waking this morning. I tried pacing myself. Even taking a shower was hard work. Bad. When I can't even shower without flickering into meltdown. I skipped washing my hair. Too much. I needed to sit down. Lie down. Feel better. I slumped on the side of the bath. Literally gasping for air. Oh buddy. Take it slow. Sit in a towel. Try to let everything calm again. And then through gritted teeth I got dressed and went out. And felt absolutely awful. A haze of illness and pain. It's hard to describe. I spend so much of my concentration on not flaking out. I am only half aware of people. Driving is a little easier. The car does all the work. Wind ...

 Ill. Exhausted. Everytime I eat, something very wrong happens. I swell up. My mentals are creaking severely under the pressure. The walls are closing in. Today I have tried to begin to get some ducks in a row, and largely failed. I am low key horrified about just how little I can do. 15 minutes on my feet and I am done. More ill. Dizzy. Headache. Face tingles. The works. All of it whispers to me how far down that spiral I am. There is I suppose, always a crunch point. You can't slide down that slope forever. My overdoing it at the start of this week now looks in hindsight to be extremely unfortunate timing.  My brother is going to come pick me up from the hospital on Monday. I feel guilty about making him come all that way. All paths but one seem very dark. I am just putting one foot in front of another, or rather, taking one breath at a time. And sleeping. And just letting shit land where it will. But. Yeah. But. Grim. But it was never going to be anything but, was it. ...

 There's a reason I am very wary of hospital appointments. Having me sit upright like a human being for an extended period of time on a schedule is an extremely hard ask for me. I don't get the luxury of waiting for my wax and wane bullshit health to suddenly line up and do a thing. I don't get the capability to tap out or lie down. I just have to do it. On some days, that's impossible. So. You get a russian roulette. How  shit  will it be. Will you pass out. Will you make it. And oh rare sunny day. Will you do it and it not be a big deal. Today was hard. I sat in the waiting room and waited. Nauseous. Dizzy. Ill. I employ every trick I know to deal with it. Calm. Zone out. Close your eyes. Drift. Only three minutes have passed since you last looked at the clock. I am locked in some super fine scrutiny of how I am feeling. Feeling that nausea rise up and down slowly. The prickle of illness sweat as it comes and goes. Steady. Steady. Keep it together. Don't focus on ...

 Hmm. A lot has gone on this week. On therapy day we got right into it about identity. I had talked a little with a therapist friend I have in the meantime between one week and the next, and he had said that people with chronic illness can also lose their identity. Either they lose it entirely. Or their illness becomes who they are. This was insightful. As soon as he said that I understood. Absolutely. All the things I  used  to do, but couldn't anymore. We talked about that still being just things you do, but, it does form the environment and ends up a blurry representation of your identity. I do get it. I talked it over with the shrink. Probably a little of column A and a little of column B. A weak sense of identity due to the Not Great childhood, and then chronic illness had robbed me of everything else. We talked also about my doubt about it all. That I was over dramatising it. That it wasn't that bad. Everything was ok. I was just weaving a narrative arc around mysel...

 Today has dawned and the awfulness has retreated half a step. I feel brutalised. And fragile. And right on that edge of feeling truly terrible. This, again, at this point, is very familiar territory for me. The whole thing is familiar. But I feel just a tad more human again today. It is something. It is darkly funny how small it is. But you take the small wins you can get when everything is a shit show. My feet have been swelling up again. Not a good sign. They swell up in bed. The right one significantly more than the left - a circulation thing for that - engineering basically. How far is the pipe from the pump. There are a bunch of different reasons this could be. Systemic inflammation. Too much salt. Bad circulation. Dodgy heart. A little of everything. Of all of them I'm pretty sure it's not too much salt. I am eating sparsely. And I am not eating anything odd or rich or blah. I haven't had sugar in... I can't even remember when. I'm going to say probably a mon...

 Very ill. I've been fighting with nausea on and off again for sometime. I had previously even stated I was going to make an extra effort to get my prebiotics, probiotics, things to try and improve my digestion. Yesterday I ate, nothing dramatic, mash potatoes, beans. And like often, I become ill after eating. This time. Really ill. Awful nausea. Dreadful tiredness. I could feel my eyes sucking into my head again. That very odd feeling of hollow eyes. Weak. Shakes. Uh huh. This was all the symptoms dialled up. I retreated to bed. And passed much of the evening feeling awful. Really awful. It didn't pass. It has stayed with me. Lessening in intensity. I slept long. Today I have woken up feeling like I have a flu. But not a flu. Tired. Blurry. Difficult to think over the nausea. And a low pain. This is the at this point perennial misery with my digestion. Same place. Same feeling. Something is wrong. But. I am just living with it. Today I have eaten very sparingly. An apple. Appl...

 Ok. Somehow I got my dates messed up yesterday. It was not Nov 5 yesterday. I don't know. Today I am tired. And. Kind of pretending yesterday didn't happen. Not entirely sure what to make of that either. I have just shut down that whole path. I just am who I am. In a vacuum. The past is the past. Nothing to see here. I get it. I absolutely do get it. There is a vast difference between two days. And. That in itself is... uh huh... definitely a thing. And also. I am just kind of ignoring that as well. I don't know. Am I in denial or something ? It's definitely weird. I do find myself with something of a quiet desperation trying to find good memories about my parents. Come on. Find the happy moment. In some form of, I don't know, effort to prove everything wrong. And that they were fine. I was fine. It's all fine. I don't know. I just need to sit with it for sometime I think and let it all sink in. One way or the other. I think you can safely say that, Shit Is...

 Therapy day today. Kind of. The misery has taken a half step back. Which isn't saying much. But. I've stepped away from the close vicinity of suicide if nothing else. Just a smidge less lost. A mite less hopeless. But still the same. It is perhaps more accurate to say that I am enduring it a little better at the moment. The wind changes, the leaves blow, subtle differences in the eddies that is all. Today at therapy I started how I finished last week. On the way out. I remembered something a friend had said. And this week I kind of opened with it. I explained that I was like a parrot. When left to my own devices I would shift in and out of different accents and voices. I loved listening to different people speaking. The shape of words and sounds. And invariably I would pick it up and mimic it. Some would stick and I would revolve around different voices when I felt comfortable with someone, when I was just idling. And my friend observed, that any time I talked of my inner crit...