Nov 7

 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 month.

In any case. I am too tired, too worn into the ground to bother with thinking about it as anything more than an idle observation. 

I had a sobering if not realisation last night, then, just more of a worded confirmation. I find this is often where I exist these days. I know a bunch of things. I know what they mean. But I often leave them at the probably correct, no energy to confirm, or probably correct, but haven't pushed through to making them concrete.

And it was that my decline is something of a choice.

I am no longer fighting it. I don't go out. I don't seek to mitigate it unless it's diabolical. And. At some level. I am ok with that. I have become resigned to it. I have slumped into it.

I reasoned that there was a choice here. That I could fight. Spend the little dribbles of energy I have here and there to continue to push to get help. To try and make stubborn progress with getting my health looked at. But also lean into it myself. Fight hard to go out. Take a walk. See people. To fight for life and make the most of all opportunities.

But I don't.

And the bottom line is. I don't want to live. I am not going to fight for it.

It's not as simple as an easy choice. Cut and dry. Not just a no brainer giving up. Garnering the energy to do anything is pain. It is often times impossible. It comes with consequences. No wonder then, that with every bit of conditioning punishing me for doing anything, that like Pavlov's dog, I get taught to let it go. That fighting - either myself and pushing towards activity that I know I can't afford, or via an indifferent, patronising, incompetent, disinterested health service - is a bad thing that leads to my ass getting kicked.

Add into that what am I fighting for. At a personal level. What have I got going for myself ? Aging. Poor health. Very limited opportunities to engage in the "good things" in life. A thin existence. And then. Look at the general state of the world. Darker. The age of narcissists and the pathologically greedy. The internet as much as I love it has done a number on all of us. Twisted us into deeper spirals of extremity, a slowly unfolding mental health disaster. I don't enjoy the stupidity and cruelty that is dominant in todays society. I truly believe we have fucked ourselves as a species. Even personally if I was in the very best of places - the world itself would be a major fucking drag.

So.

There's a "choice". It is in the end, still a bit of a choice. Even if that choice is extremely difficult in one direction, and oh so easy in the other. Life is often like that. Making the choices that are hard. I am absolutely no stranger to that. The scale of this is... bordering on insurmountable. Probably insurmountable in fact. There is a line there. With awful afflictions. Someone slipping away because of dementia. No amount of positive choices or fighting is going to do shit.

But I do get it. There are some choices there for me. I could. Make a supreme effort to go out a bit more - just for a walk around the block.

But it feels so.. empty. Pointless. What am I doing. Extending my time ? Extending this state of fucking misery ? WHY would you do that ??

And beyond all that.

The layers on layers of grief. And the realisations of the damage that has been done to me in the past has set a lot of my reality around me. And this is despite me doing a lot of work on myself, realisations, and pushing, and I think even with my brutal inner critic it is fair to say that I've done an awful lot of hard work on that score. But even with that. The therapy if nothing else, has slowly brought all of that into focus. Not that I didn't know most of it. But. It has clarified it. And made it more obvious. And what its consequences are in me. And I am a lumpen dysfunctional output. I know. That from manys perspective. The opposite is true. That I am kind. And caring. And happy. And thoughtful. And capable. And generous. And what an example to aspire to. I say that with no sense of self trumpeting. I know how fucked up I am. Others see... what they see. I have gone into this before. The differences between what one person sees and another and what you yourself see. 

In a way you can see this in action between my therapist and myself. In this case, mostly, you can see my twisted view. I call myself broken and dysfunctional. The therapist strongly dislikes that. I am not broken. Or dyfunctional. I am a survivor. We sit on the opposite sides of that fence and look at each other. I think they are too happy clappy. They think my inner critic is a raging beast that likes pushing me into the dirt. We both agree this is a gift. From my parents. Part of what the shrink calls the cost with a dour look on their face.

In any case.

Here I am.

In the heartbeat of minute to minute. Today. I am feeling better than I did yesterday. I feel shit. But a better grade of shit. Which. Is absolutely the summary of my current existence. I'll take that small win. And see if I can do something slightly enjoyable today. Sit and play a game perhaps. For as long as I am able.

This week I caught myself masking again. This has been the small revelation this year. That I suspected. But didn't really understand. I have caught myself red handed masking to an extreme degree - dialling it up to perform a Teams Video Call, and slumping the second the call ends into a horror of exhaustion and illness. Like turning off a light switch.

This week I watched myself do that again. Different ways. Different extents. I am learning. I am learning how I do this without thinking. Automatically. Switch on. Switch off. And I am learning where those "unforeseen" consequences then come from. They are not unforeseen. They are a consequence of me masking.

Ill. On Wednesday. So ill I could not think straight. No good for work. By mid afternoon I had struggled into an upright position and pushed out a small amount of work. A notable milestone. I was very slow with it. Very careful. I couldn't face having to correct something. Not enough energy or brainpower. So I did something very slowly and methodically. Hard. And then the PM wanted a voice chat.

Something I was in no state to do.

Sure. Give me 2 minutes.

I am sitting upright. At a computer desk. No one can see me. No one is there. I am slumped across the desk. I groan. I feel terrible. This is me when no one can see. Honest. About how I feel. The call rings. I pick myself up. I suppress the groans. I wipe off the grimace. I try to look normal. And accept the call.

We talk. I cannot entirely suppress it. At times I lean on my hand, half slumped. I yawn continually.

But I am animated in places. I explain. And help. And teach - the PM just didn't know how to do something. Had also missed something I wrote.

The call ends.

And I let out a huge groan, and slump over. Collapsed on the desk. I feel terrible.

A bit of me sits and watches myself.

Oh. See. Really good demonstration of masking my man. How very fascinating. It's very strong. It also starts to make sense why you begin to avoid people. Because instinctively. You know how much it costs to put that mask on. You know you can't afford it. So you become more and more distant with people. Unable to pay that cost.

And then. Non personal masking.

My brother is excited about getting a new PC. And. He needs my help. He has just got a tax rebate. And is eager to get something. But he needs my help first. He gently nudges me.

This week. I have felt like shit.

I understand. He is excited. He wants to get going.

I can barely put one thought after another. I know it will disappoint him. I know he is excited.

I gather my strength. 1 hour, 2 hours, 4 hours. And pull myself into a pile to start crunching numbers for him and laying out options.

I am done with detailing all the different cpu options and I can feel the cost. I slump. I feel more ill again. That. Was a lot. But I am not done.

I pause to catch my breath. 1 minute. 10 minutes. 30 minutes. 60 minutes.

I drag myself back to the task, plan out all the GPUs, but I am done. I can do no more. It's good enough to get him started. I give him the spreadsheet with all my work. And chat to him about what it all means. In the chat I am balanced and normal and stable. Typing at the other end of the chat I am a mess of ill. Barely keeping upright.

I realise. I am masking again. Pushing.

In the end I can't maintain it. It has been too long holding that level.

I tell my brother I am going back to bed.

It is 7pm. 

I realise. I do this all the time. Step up. Mask up. Even when I feel like shit. I drag myself up if I can. A lot of times now I can't at all.

And I am always giving my time and energy away.

I absolutely do not in any way begrudge my brother here. I know he is excited. It's a positive thing for him. And I hate if I am a drag to that. I will do my bit to make sure he is happy. Happy without knowing what it costs me either. And that's all that is for me. There is no resentment or hate. I can see through his eyes the tiny bit of magic that is there. The presents under the christmas tree.

In a bigger picture this is me. At work. With Andy. With so many people. I give myself away. And keep the cost quiet.

And then we wonder why I burn out. 

This afternoon a friend called.

How am I doing.

I nearly burst into tears. Instead I silently cried. Masking. Of course.

Apparently. I am not doing well.

Duh.