Nov 19

 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 long time. I think it's almost certainly true. I also hate how much it's probably true. There is a resentment there that I need Someone Else to make me not entirely go nuts. Who designed this system ? It's shit. Yes. Sulk all you like about it, that's the facts. So I sulk a bit about it. Very quietly and internally and careful to make it no one elses problem but mine. The other irony that I can very clearly see working here is when oh so often my energy dips below a level where I can talk to people. There is I think. That very nasty sympathetic co feeding issue going on there. Co-dependent parasites. Bad health. Feeding Bad mentals. Feeding Bad health. And so on. It is tricky. I am conscious of it. And I also know that even if you cut all ties. Just one side or the other. Is a beast in and of itself. And there is nothing I can do about the physical one. I just have to. Accept its there. And try to cope with it as best I can. Or fail. When its impossible. And just. Accept that. Accept it can push you into non existence. Very tricky. Because all that starts to become a mind fuck. Where you have to explore your own mortality. Who you are. The importance of things. How thin of a life is still a life. And on. And on.

Tricky.

It does make me wonder how some people with terminal illnesses cope. And I do see why there are so many support charities around such things. Who sometimes just turn up with tea and biscuits. I think. I get it. It's hard.

I need to go out today. Entirely out of loo paper. Oh dear. But figures. I am increasingly sketchy about just staying on top of the simplest things. I was surprised to note in the surgical post advice notes, that I was to avoid driving for 2 weeks. Wow I said. 2 weeks. Well said the nurse. If you feel you can sit down easily. And make an emergency stop. Then you're ok. Ah. Ok I said. Sitting there with zero pain. This is going to be something I can ignore then.

And so it seems. I have zero pain even now. No discomfort. No issues. I know this is Not Typical, and always surprises the hospital people. I don't know what to tell you. Stab wounds are not a big deal.

When I was a kid I would not exactly regularly, but not uncommon, end up slicing myself open with a knife. As you do. Modelling you see. Literal surgical scalpels ( they make the best modelling knives ! ) and an array of other very sharp knives and tools. And you end up slicing yourself open plenty. Sometimes quite dramatically. I can remember one of them where blood was running the entire length of my arm and dripping on the floor. A little river of blood. My thought at the time was. How cool ! And not. That hurts ! It didn't hurt. There was a tiny amount of sting. A little raw. But otherwise. Eh.

I have also learned that I clot super well and super fast. Claggy blood. There are pros and cons to having jam for blood. So. I've never flapped at bleeds. Ever. I just kind of assume they go away on their own. Even the bad ones. Sometimes I know to press something to the wound to a) slow the blood flow down a bit and b) give it something to start clotting to if its a bit of an enormous crater. You need something to bind to see.

So maybe me not feeling surgery. Is just a reflection of that. One way or the other. I don't know.

Then again.

Try pulling a hair out. And it's excruciatingly painful. But apparently. This can vary widely from person to person. And some people. Find it very bad. So. Maybe. Stab wounds. Fine. Hair removal. Horrendous.

I shall pick work up again next week.

I'm slightly surprised I haven't had Andy poking me.

He has in the past showed zero sensitivity to whether you're in and out of hospital. I think his anxiety overrides all such common sense concerns. I'm not really criticising him there. It's just you can see the shape of his traumas and what scars he has. I feel sympathy for him if anything. But still. Crossing lines of asking about work whilst dying of something in hospital, regardless of sympathy for the trauma that makes you think thats ok, is something that needs a robust, and possibly annoyed boundary line drawn if and when it comes up. Not acceptable. Play nicely.

Dealing with people. You can get strength from it. And it can be a pain in the arse. The duality of humanity.

This is some of what slightly annoys me about the strong suspicion that I need people in my life and can't entirely be solo. Although I think. If I was of good health and otherwise. Solo would be doable. Not necessarily great. But doable.