Dec 26

 Rough again today, but not as rough as the day before.

I dragged myself upright for just after 11am, and ticked off the things I needed to do -

check over my brother in laws PC. check over my nephews PC. figure out what to do about the car. Go home. Or not.

I decided to get the PC checking out of the way. Half groggy and backwards. At least that way. I could then allow myself to wax and wane with my bullshit without worrying too much about anyone else.

I did also make some plans to meet up with a work colleague this Christmas. He was keen on having a chat. But. It wasn't going to be doable. The shit car, my shit health just made that a bridge too far.

As I sorted out the PCs methodically I started to crash, and, nice, here comes the nausea. It has been on the down low for a few days, but here it was making a return.

Finished what I needed to do, went back to my brothers and crashed out. And slept super deep. And super wrapped up in the smothering exhaustion. On the one hand. This is the best of oblivions. It takes me so deep that time passes in a blink and I feel nothing but sluggish warmth. There is peace down there. On the other hand. The journey back is worse. Going that deep has consequences. It's hard to come back, and when you do you pay a bigger price. And I am always left with a sense that that deep peace runs a line close to permanent peace if you see what I mean. Too deep. But so nice - because it takes everything away.

I woke up, rolled over, feeling my exhaustion still there. Sleep more. But. After 1 minute I had shifted into a place of certainty. I needed to get my stuff ready now. Load up the car now. And go. This is the shadow of my fucky neurodivergent bullshit. It suddenly has to do a thing now, the planets have aligned, not doing that is very wrong, go, do it, now, must, yes, go. This has always been part of me. But when I was in better health - without realising it - I used to mask it. I used to expend spare energy to stick it on a leash. Stop it. Be quiet. No. Now. I have no energy to spare. So. The faultlines becomes more clear. A fleeting thought passed through my head. We can go back home and then just end it all. That would be a neat and correct plan. Easy. No need to suffer or have to deal with anything. Good idea. Makes sense. Passes the computer checksum. So neat. Very right. I pushed it out of the back of my head. Not saying no. Not defying it. But just. Pretending like nothing had been said. Just. Walking around the elephant in the room and pretending it's not there. I need to get up. And load the car. Now.

So I did. With a growing nausea and feeling of illness. Not great. Deteriorating. But I figured once I started driving it would be ok. Driving tends to be a gentle experience for me. It's not something that makes me crash out like anything else does. I can absolutely crash out after a lengthy drive. But it's not the same as my typical 5 minute crashes. Overall driving feels like one of the few places that is more predictable for me. Certainly more predictable than standing in a kitchen for instance. Ironically. Being in charge of 1 tonne of metal at speed is one of my easiest things I can cope with. I think you can start to figure out why. But it's subtle.

Loaded. Daylight fading. Time to test the car - again - and see if this was all for nothing.

Key turns. Nothing. Engine malfunction flashes up. Uh huh. But. In the past few days I've had some luck with taking the key out, waiting a minute and trying again.

Sure enough, this time the engine fired into life. But then 2 minutes later. Engine malfunction. Acceleration reduced - limp mode.

Oh no I muttered out loud. Limp mode caps you out at 50mph. Which for pootling around an urban landscape is fine. For motorway driving which was ahead of me, 50mph is no bueno. 

I switched it all off and waited. Tried again. Engine fired into life. Wait. Wait. No engine malfunction. No limp mode. Hmmmmmmm.

I realised I had put my wallet in the boot. Shit. I decided I needed it on me - I did not. But. That was what my rat brain was telling me. I was not about to shut the engine down and do the random dance of bullshit with it again. I left it running and noodled around the boot.

I checked my phone to make sure my breakdown cover was on there, logged in, and ready to go. I figured the chance of me breaking down on the way back was... a very distinct possibility. Not a possibility I could really deal with. But. Needs must.

Andy had offered me the loan of one of his cars. Leave my car down South. He would sort it out. I would take a loaner.

This would have been the absolute smart play. And a great idea. I didn't do it. Because. Me. Because. If you want to dip your toe in therapy. The bullshit my parents have tormented into me. If you want everyday examples of where that shadow starts to make choices for you 45 years later. Here it is. And how it potentially starts spinning out into bad outcomes. Here it is.

I told myself. That I needed to take responsibility for myself. That I needed to do it. As an adult. And the whole breakdown thing and managing it whilst feeling ill, and having CFS crash outs would be Character Building. Let me be clear. Part of me realises how fucking stupid that is. Screamingly stupid. And how much it ignores that I am not baseline and that doing even trivial things is a high order function for me. Dealing with high impact problems or emergencies is to be honest beyond my capability. But even so.

I determined it would be character building. Good for me.

This is masochistic. Hyper independent. Trauma fuelled. Bullshit.

Through most - if not almost all - of the paths I walk down. I do have a pretty good sense of the objective perspective. I am aware of my own bullshit. I am aware of my own failings. And the why. And the origins. And very neat and very algorithmic. Not that it helps dealing with it per se. I suppose it removes a level of confusion. Fear. Doubt. Well. Iffy about the doubt. You can still doubt logic. Emotions have no care for if you have a rational point or not. Fuck you ! Perhaps I'm complacent about the benefits of that. I should know better. I know what being confused and scared because you don't know feels like. But anyway. Aware of it or not.

Let's do the stupid masochistic thing for the sake of meeting some stupid fucking self invented standard of being an adult. Character building mate. 

I then immediately followed this thought with, I am not sure I need more character building at this point. I've had plenty of character building thank you. I'm not sure I can do character building anymore. There is a point where you can put the character building down and optimise for "just fucking making it through the day without pointless fucking posturing".

Nevertheless. The parents indoctrination did not stutter. It just brought all the other misgivings along with it without choice. Quit whining. This is what's happening.

I was careful with the car on the way home. Didn't do anything stupid. And constantly kept an eye on how far, and how long to go. And which way it would be easier to recover to.

But the car behaved itself. And I behaved myself. And the pair of invalids made it home without event.

This wasn't an excercise in smart choices. Or competent adulting. This was dumb. And lucky. And unnecessarily avoidant of help. But this time, it worked out.

Came home. And the weight of exhaustion was sitting heavily on me. That buzz from a longer drive. Unpacked the car. Flopped into bed. And slept. Deep. Wrapped up. Warm. Foggy. Muggy. Toffee like. Oblivion.

It is now the next day. My hours are completely out of whack. I am awake from a deep sleep in the very early hours of the morning. I need to phone the garage ideally today. But. There is no rush if I am being clear headed. I am not in a panic to use the car. As long I as I get it put it at some point. All will be fine.

It feels good to be home. It is clear I have become very sensitive to environment now. It turns out I have shaped my home environment to be a close feedback loop to my health. It is a mess. And things go untouched for months. A bomb site. But the bits that impact. The sleep. The necessities. Are where they need to be. Easily accessible. As comfortable as I can make them. Shaped into the peculiar shape that the Bullshit dictates I need to be.

My state at home is poor. The revelation here. Is that my state away from home is harder now. And that I have travelled far down that curve. This is what I have learned on this trip. It is. Not good.

The trajectory in this last 24 months has been clear. A very notable deterioration. Not short lived. Long term. Years.

Whether it plateaus out. Or gets better. Or continues to get worse. I don't know. I do know that there is no more room left. I am already grinding metal. Down from here is loss of capability. Death. And not that far off.

We shall see. I wish I just didn't have to suffer. I am ok just up and dying. The suffering bit. Very much not.

Given what time it is, and the way the bullshit rotates. I think I am going to be lucky to be able to phone the garage later today. I am going to predict I crash out through the daylight hours. And only emerge once the place is shut. Meaning it will be next week. This is frustrating. But not the end of the world.

Be kind to yourself Johnny. Do what you can when you can. It is hard. And miserable. Be kind. Rest. Orientate yourself for better days, not worse ones by beating yourself up.

Tricky.